To Be Human
by RampantBadger
Summary: Lena Lestrange has spent her entire life trying to forge her own path, and not without considerable difficulty. Where this path will lead her, she doesn't know, but on the way, she will learn the lesson that she never learned in her childhood: what it is to be human.
1. The Student and her Teacher

**Author's Note: Sorry about the slightly crappy summary, but hopefully it conveys the general idea of this story. Also, apologies to anyone hoping to see Lupin soon, because he unfortunately won't be showing up for sometime.**

 **So, this is my first fanfiction, and any feedback or criticism would be appreciated. Or just any sort of response, really. I'm not fussy.  
**

 **Anyhoo, on with the story :)**

* * *

 _Friday 30 October, 1981_

Heavy rain began to splash against the window, but the small girl curled up on the bed gave no indication that she had noticed the change in weather. Instead, her blue-grey eyes were fixed on the open book lying beside her. Anyone who didn't know the girl would assume that she was simply pretending to read the thick tome, as it would surely be far too advanced for such a young child.

Their assumption would be wrong.

The girl absentmindedly twirled a lock of her long, wavy, black hair around a finger as she read, her brow furrowed in concentration as she digested the information in the book. Uncomfortable with the way her black tights had twisted around her legs, she momentarily paused her reading to fix them and smooth out her dark green dress. Her eyes found the clock on her bedside table. It was seventeen minutes past two. Just over forty minutes, she noted, before He would arrive for their lesson.

With that comforting thought, she returned to her reading. Only this time, she couldn't help flicking her eyes over to the clock every few minutes, anticipation building as the hands on the clock slowly made their way to 3 o'clock. One minute before they did, she heard a noise downstairs. He had arrived.

She quickly placed a bookmark in the book – _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot – and closed it, placing it on the bedside table next to the clock. She ran across the spacious bedroom to where a full length mirror stood, and checked her appearance. Her reflection looked back at her: eerily pale from too little sunlight, slim but well-nourished, and eyes that had thankfully not inherited the heavy lids of her mother's. She made a few adjustments to her hair and straightened up her clothes, then moved back to the bed, sitting down on it, and faced the closed bedroom door. She strained her ears, listening for His quiet footsteps. He had reached the floor on which her bedroom resided.

An idea suddenly occurred to her, and a small, mischievous smile appeared on her face. She raised her right hand and concentrated on the door. She waited until the soft footsteps were directly outside the door, then twisted to her hand as if she turning a knob, and pulled back. The door swung open to reveal her teacher, who also happened to be most feared wizard of their time.

Lord Voldemort seemed mildly surprised by the magically-opened door, and looked across the room to the young girl sitting on the bed, who was barely concealing a pleased expression, and could not contain his own smile.

"Most impressive, Lena. I am glad to see you have been practising this past week."

The girl, Lena, stood up. "Thank you, Sir."

Voldemort stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Despite the rain outside, he remained perfectly dry. He was wearing his usual black robes, and was cloak-less, having already deposited it downstairs. His skin was as pale as Lena's, and his hair as black as hers too – only his was slicked back, away from his face, which was almost reptilian in its bone structure. The red glint in his eyes frightened most people, but not Lena. Never Lena.

At the same time, the two occupants of the room moved towards the centre of the floor-space, and sat down cross-legged, facing each other with about a foot-and-a-half's distance between them.

"What would you like to start with today?" Voldemort asked her.

Lena slightly tilted her head to the side, considering the possibilities. "Could I practise moving multiple objects at one time?"

Acquiescing to her request, Voldemort pulled his wand out of his robes, and waved it around the room. The doors to her wardrobe flew open, as did drawers of her dresser and bedside table, and clothes began to zoom out. Books flew off their shelves, as did various trinkets and objects. Soon, most of Lena's possessions were flying around the room. Lena was impressed at how Voldemort managed to avoid colliding any of the objects. Then, as quickly as it had begun, he brought his wand down, and everything floated down.

Lena looked around the previously neat bedroom. Everything was strewn across the room in a big mess. It was a bigger challenge than she had expected. She turned back to her teacher, who was watching her closely. Lena simply nodded, and focused on a pile of clothes from the wardrobe first. She held her hands out, palms raised to the ceiling, and slowly moved them in an upward motion. Fewer of the clothing items then she would have liked began to shakily rise. Putting aside her disappointment, she steadily guided the four items towards the wardrobe that was only about four feet away. Once they reached their destination, Lena attempted to hang them on the bar, and accidentally dropped two of the items in the process. Lena refocussed her efforts of the last two, a dress and a blouse. The small sense of achievement she felt when they were hung was greatly overwhelmed by the enormity of the task as she looked around the room again.

She locked eyes with Voldemort. There was a look in his eyes that seemed to be daring her to complain that the task was too difficult. Lena defiantly stared back, then swiftly moved her attention back to the clothes she had previously dropped. Repeating her prior motions, she hung them with slightly more ease. Without pause, she turned back to the original pile of clothes, and raised the rest of the items. She levitated them across to the wardrobe more confidently, and with an increased pace. As she started to hang them, she watched her teacher out of the corner of her eye. It was imperceptible, but she knew him well enough to notice the tiny, pleased smile on his face. It was, she thought to herself with a certain degree of smugness, almost proud.

* * *

It took almost fifty minutes to put everything back in its place. Finally, Lena placed the last two objects, the clock and the book she'd been reading earlier, back on the bedside table, and surveyed the once-again tidy bedroom. It felt immensely satisfying.

"Well done," Voldemort finally spoke again. He had remain silent the entire time, simply watching Lena. "You achieved that more quickly than I imagined. What was your process?"

This was his usual teaching method. Try first, then discuss what worked and what didn't, and then try again.

Lena tried to recall her progression with the activity. "Well, it was quicker to do lots of small groups instead of a few big ones, because I could be more precise-"

"Why do you think it makes a difference?" Voldemort interrupted. "The amount of objects?" He wasn't chastising her, simply trying to make her think deeper.

Lena frowned. "Because... well, it's like my focus is... is..."

"Too divided? Too split up?"

"Not split up," Lena shook her head. "Not exactly. More like it's spread too thinly. Like it's been pulled too hard and in too many directions, and it could snap at any-"

Lena broke off – she had felt something trying to slip through the mental barriers that were supposed to guard her mind at all times. Immediately, she put up another layer of protection, visualising it as a wall with iron spikes driven through it. It was just in time too, as a half-second later, the would-be intruder attempted to penetrate her defences again. This time, however, she could feel it quickly recoil as it touched the new wall, and it withdrew completely. Lena gave her teacher a reproachful look, and Voldemort laughed.

"You know it would be a pointless exercise if I gave you a warning," he said.

"I know," Lena muttered, "but I still don't like it."

"You're not supposed to" he replied, smiling wryly. "And I don't know why you're so annoyed, you did very well, especially considering the fact that you should be mentally exhausted after moving all of those objects back to their places."

"Well, you weren't trying very hard," Lena shrugged. "You could have easily broken through that new barrier if you'd wanted to."

Voldemort placed his hands behind him and leaned back. "I tried harder than you think." He paused, considering his young student for a moment. "I suspect you are a better Occlumens than your mother is by now." Expecting her to be pleased by the comment, he was surprised to see a brief shadow of irritation cross her face, before regaining a neutral expression. He paused, before asking in a gentle tone that he reserved for Lena alone, "Did you have another argument this week?"

Lena didn't immediately response. Instead, she stared at the carpet and began twirling a lock of hair around a finger. Voldemort patiently waited; he knew that the gesture meant she was carefully considering the matter. The only sound to be heard was the rain, persistent in its assault on the window.

Finally, she looked back up at him and spoke. "Three days ago, Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius visited. They brought the baby with them. Draco. Anyway, we were all down in the dining room, having lunch, when Draco started to cry. Aunt Narcissa picked him up and was trying to comfort him, and then she – my mother, I mean," Lena added, as though it was painful to admit that they were related, "said to Aunt Narcissa, 'Why don't you just put a Silencing Charm on him, that's what I used to do her when she wouldn't shut up.'" Lena paused for a moment. "I mean, it's not like I didn't know she used to do that to me, I can even remember a couple of times..." she trailed off, looking back down at the carpet.

Voldemort watched her, his face remaining impassive as he waited for her to continue.

Lena looked back at him. "I just got so... angry... with her. So when Aunt Narcissa said, 'Don't be so horrible, Bella. I would never do that', I couldn't help it, I just... I said, 'Don't worry, Aunt Narcissa, Mother doesn't understand that just because she's entirely incompetent at raising children, not every woman is'."

"And how did she take that?" said Voldemort quietly.

Lena gave him a dry smile. "About as well as you'd expect. She told me that's because not every woman has to deal with such an awful little brat like me, and that it wasn't her fault if I was too stupid to understand that she had far greater priorities than me in her life."

It was left unsaid what these priorities were – they both knew they all revolved around serving the Dark Lord.

"Anyway," Lena continued, "after she said all of that, I, you know," she flicked her wrist in a vague manner," and the legs on the chair she was sitting on snapped, and she crashed to the ground. I ran out, and she started to send curses after me. I came up here and locked the door, but she never came up – the Malfoys must have reminded her of what you said to her the last time..."

She didn't need to elaborate. They both remembered the previous occasion on which her mother had been too heavy-handed with her punishment, and Voldemort's reaction when he had found out what she'd done.

"And I haven't seen her since then," Lena finished.

Voldemort regarded her for a moment, before speaking. "And your father didn't intervene at any point?"

Lena let out a short burst of mirthless laughter – an unnatural sound to hear from a child. "What do you think?" It was a response that no Death Eater would have dared to give, but when Lena said it, Voldemort was not the slightest bit irritated. In fact, in this case he thought he probably deserved the insolent reply – the notion that Rodolphus Lestrange would ever say so much as 'Are you sure that's a good idea?' to Bellatrix was simply too ludicrous to even entertain.

"The Malfoys love Draco," said Lena suddenly. "You could see it on their faces every time they looked at him, spoke to him."

"And is that what you want, Lena?" Voldemort asked softly. "Your parents to love you?"

"No!" said Lena vehemently. "I don't." She added in a quieter voice, "That's not what I want at all."

There was a momentarily silence, before Lena broke it.

"Why didn't you try another attack on my mind when I was talking?" she inquired. "It would have been a perfect opportunity, I was so... preoccupied that I wouldn't have noticed anything."

A flicker of surprise crossed Voldemort's face. "The thought honestly didn't occur to me."

Lena raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. She turned to look at the clock, and Voldemort followed her gaze. They had another hour left of their lesson.

"Would you like to properly practise Occlumency now?" he asked his student. She nodded, evidently keen to leave the conversation about her mother behind.

* * *

The rain had stopped by the time Voldemort ended their lesson. For fifty-five minutes, he had repeatedly tried to enter Lena's mind while they talked. He had eventually broken in every time until the last five minutes, where try as he might, he could not break through her mental barriers. Lena was delighted, and Voldemort told her she should be.

"I doubt there are more than a few grown wizards and witches who could manage to repel me the way you just did," he told a smiling Lena. "That fact that you can do it at your age..." he tilted his head to the side, as though sizing her up. "You will be six soon, yes?"

Lena nodded. "On the 7th of December." She hesitated, before saying, almost shyly, "It's because you're a great teacher. That's why I can do all of this."

Voldemort smirked. "Oh, of course. I do deserve some of the credit for your achievements." The smirk disappeared as he adopted a more serious expression. "But I couldn't teach just anyone to do the things you are now capable of." Without really knowing why, he reached a hand out and cupped the left side of her face. "You truly are remarkable, Lena."

Lena looked back at him earnestly. "Thank you for remarking upon it, Sir."

Almost identical small smiles graced their faces. Then Voldemort removed his hand from her face and stood up. Lena quickly copied his movement.

"And so another lesson comes to an end," said Voldemort.

"Why does it have to?" asked Lena, sounding slightly petulant. "Why can't they be longer?"

Voldemort laughed softly, before saying, "Maybe they will be in future. You see," he explained to a curious Lena, "It is quite likely that much will have changed by our lesson next Friday."

"Like what?"

"Let us just say that I believe we are about to enter something of a turning point in this war," said Voldemort mysteriously. Lena crossed her arms, irritated at the lack of information, but her teacher only shook his head. "I promise to tell you more during our next lesson," he said. "Who knows, I might see you before that."

"I'd like that," said Lena quickly. "I, I..." she hesitated before rushing, "I wish I got to see you every day."

"Lessons every day?" he asked, amused. "I dare not, you would probably surpass me by the time you were ten."

"No," said Lena, looking down at the ground. "Not for lessons, I mean..."

Voldemort watched the now slightly uncomfortable-looking girl in curiosity. What did she mean?

"... live with you."

Voldemort didn't laugh this time. He simply stared at Lena, before saying softly, "You wish to come live with me?"

Lena finally looked up at him again, then slowly nodded. "I hate it here." Her voice grew stronger. " I hate living in the same house as _her_. And you, you're... you're the best part of my week." She took a step towards him. "The best part of my life. I..." the words spilled out of her before she knew what she was saying: "I wish you were my father."

For a moment, Voldemort said nothing, but simply looked down at the small girl with an unreadable expression on his face. Then, he slowly knelt down so he was face to face with her. He reached out one long-fingered hand and took both her small hands in his. "If you were my daughter, Lena, I would be proud to be your father."

For a moment, the air in the room was heavy with some indescribable emotion. Then as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, as did Lord Voldemort.

She stared at the door as it shut behind him, and for the first time in her life, Lena Lestrange felt truly happy.


	2. A Girl with a Reputation

**Hurrah for anyone who continued to the second chapter! So, there's a bit of a time-shift now, but don't worry, a lot of things that happen between the first two chapters will be addressed as the story progresses.**

 **And onwards with Lena's story...**

 _10 Years Later_

It was one of the few days of the year on which Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was filled with people and noise. There was a cacophony of shouting, laughing and owls hooting, punctuated by the odd yell of pain as a heavy trunk fell on some unlucky victim's foot. Steam from the Hogwarts Express wafted around, and the atmosphere of excitement was unmistakable. The compartments on the train were beginning to fill up, and with less than five minutes until departure, you would of been lucky to not be sharing one with at least a couple of Hogwarts students who you didn't know particularly well.

However, Lena Lestrange was not one to leave things to luck, and thus had arrived half-an-hour early at King's Cross Station, in order to get herself a compartment. She didn't have to worry about any students she didn't want in there asking to join her. It was one of the upsides of having a _reputation_. Instead, her compartment was given a wide berth, and at present, the only other occupant was something very small and very green and currently gesticulating wildly at Lena.

"You can make as many rude gestures as you like," she told it calmly, "but, as I told you this morning Mortimer, as you were wolfing down your breakfast, you will not be having anything else to eat until lunchtime, which will be 1 o'clock."

Mortimer the Bowtruckle blew a raspberry at her, but Lena merely raised an eyebrow, saying, "If you continue to misbehave, I will be more than happy to put you in the pouch until you see the error of your ways."

The pouch which she was referring to was a mole-skin pouch that she had received as a Christmas present when she was twelve. Just as nothing could be removed from the pouch by its owner, nothing could take itself out. Lena had discovered early on that a period of incarceration within the pouch was the most effective threat against the bowtruckle.

As a sulky Mortimer conceded his defeat, the compartment door opened and a girl entered, lugging her trunk behind her.

"Good summer, Lestrange?" she asked as she heaved the trunk into the luggage rack.

Lena casually swiped her hand in a horizontal direction, and the compartment door slammed shut. "Good enough," she replied. "Yours?"

"I've had worse."

The girl took a seat on the opposite to side Lena, who was leaning against the wall on the windowed side, with her legs outstretched across the seats. Mortimer perched on one of her legs, his twig-like arms crossed as he pointedly stared away from Lena.

"What's got Leaf-Man so moody?"

Lena snorted. "The greedy little bugger wanted a snack and I said he couldn't have one. Then he was rude, so I threatened him with the pouch."

The girl sniggered, then leaned across to speak directly to Mortimer. "Cheer up, mate. If I was the one who'd been rude to her, I'd be getting a lot worse than the pouch."

"Then it's probably a good thing you've never been rude to me, isn't it, Skelton?" smirked Lena.

"Well I'm not batshit mental, am I, Lestrange?" Skelton shot back.

And it was true, even if most people thought that Maggie Skelton had to be at least a little less than sane to voluntarily spend time with Lena Lestrange. Particularly when it was factored in that there was a reasonable possibility that, despite being in Slytherin, Skelton was a muggle-born.

Skelton didn't even know for sure herself, having been raised in foster care since her mother, a single parent, died. Lena wasn't sure of the circumstances. She had never asked. In fact, there were many things Lena had never asked Skelton, ranging from what her favourite type of Honeydukes sweet was, to when her birthday was. She wasn't even sure if it was correct to refer to the darker-skinned Skelton as black (which Skelton had found very amusing when Lena had once described her as "my ethnically ambiguous friend"). Their friendship, if it could be called that, was built principally on two things, the first being a 'no questions' policy: in particular, they didn't ask each other about their childhoods and parents. All they knew about each other was what was volunteered – in Skelton's case, that she had lived in at least six foster homes since her mother's death when she was three, and in Lena's, that she had lived abroad, under her paternal grandmother's guardianship, from the end of the war until the summer before her First Year – and whatever was common knowledge – for instance, that Skelton was not a known wizard's name, and that Lena's parents were serving life sentences in Azkaban. The other thing that the 'friendship' was built on was that Lena liked that Skelton was about one inch shorter than her 5 feet 9 inches– not so short that she had to bend her neck to look down at her, nor any taller than her so that she would have to look up to her. It was superficial, yet something Lena found greatly reassuring.

Of course, there was also the matter that neither of them could stand the other six Slytherin girls in their year level. It had taken Lena approximately the first two months of First Year to persuade the two other girls sharing her and Skelton's dorm, Nicole Bletchley and Flavia Warrington, that they should make a request to Professor Snape to move into the other Slytherin girls' dormitory. It was a request that Snape would normally not even give a moment's consideration, but as soon as he realised that Lena –who he had been wary of since her first day – was somehow involved, he immediately gave them permission. So for the last four years, Lena and Skelton had had the dorm to themselves, something that suited both of them greatly.

"So I see you weren't made Prefect," said Skelton.

"I see you weren't either. Pity, I thought that this year they might make a bold choice. You know, something a bit out of the box."

"Out of the box?" Skelton raised her eyebrows. "I think choosing either of us as prefects would qualify as out-of-the-room-the-box-was-in."

As Lena gave a theatrical sigh, they felt the train lurch, then slowly begin to move. A couple of seconds later, the compartment door opened again and a tall, gangly boy with brown hair stumbled in, dragging his trunk behind him. He shut the door, and flopped back onto a seat next to Skelton. He seemed out of breath.

"Thank god, I only got onto the platform at 11:59," he panted.

"That's cutting it a bit fine," Lena remarked.

"Lost track of the time this morning. Oh, hello Mortimer," he said, noticing the bowtruckle who was waving at him, looking cheerier than he had since his breakfast.

"If I wave at you too, do I get a proper greeting?" said Lena drily.

"Oh, sorry. How are you, Lena?"

"I'm very well, Rolf, how are you?"

"I'm good," said Rolf Scamander, leaning over and holding his palm out to Mortimer, who eagerly stepped onto it. "And how are you, Maggie?"

"Oh, I'm just fine and dandy," smirked Skelton. "So you're not a Prefect then either, I take it?"

"Merlin, no. They would of had to be desperate or out of their minds to choose me. I mean, not as insane as they would be to make either of you prefects, but still, you know, bonkers."

"That hurts, Scamander," said Lena in a mock-offended voice.

"Cuts us to the quick," added Skelton, holding a hand over her heart.

"My sincerest apologies," was Rolf's sarcastic reply.

"But you know what?" Lena swung her legs off the seat and straightened up. "I think this disappointment is the kick up the arse I need to put an end to my fiendish ways, to walk the straight and narrow path," she deadpanned. Rolf snorted and Skelton laughed outright. Lena tossed her long hair and fixed them with a superior look. "You won't be laughing when I'm made Head Girl in two years time."

"What a terrifying prospect," shuddered Rolf, as Skelton laughed again. A small smile played on Lena's lips as she settled back into her previous position of lying across the seats. Mortimer, apparently now bored with Rolf's companionship, jumped down onto Rolf's trunk, where it still lay on the floor. Lena stretched out a foot to him, and he latched on as she brought him back up onto the seat. It looked like he'd forgiven her for her prior threat.

"So who do you reckon are the Slytherin prefects?" Rolf asked the girls.

"Gemma Farley, I imagine," replied Skelton. "She's the least idiotic of the other girls. As for the boys, I'm not sure. Higgs, maybe? Possibly Kahn."

"That sounds about right," agreed Lena. "What about Hufflepuff?" she asked Rolf.

He scratched his nose, thinking. "Gabriel Truman, probably. No clue which girl, though."

"No prizes for guessing which Gryffindor boy," Skelton snickered.

"Oh, yeah," said Lena in a serious voice. "Definitely Oliver Wood. He's such a well-rounded individual."

Once again, there were snorts of laughter.

"Seriously, though," said Skelton, "How unbearable is Weasley going to be now that he's got a badge?"

Lena smiled dangerously. "Oh, I hope he tries to put me in detention."

"He's a pompous twat, Lena, not a sadomasochist," Rolf said matter-of-factly. "Besides, when was the last time even a teacher gave you a detention?"

"When was the last I got caught breaking the rules?" Lena pointed out. "And are you going to put that in the luggage rack or not?" She indicated to his trunk.

"Oh, well I thought maybe you could do it," said Rolf sheepishly.

"That's not fair!" cried Skelton indignantly. "I put mine up by myself!"

Lena rolled her eyes, before focussing her attention on the trunk. She put her hands out in front of her, palms facing upwards, and slowly began to raise them. At the same time, the trunk started to levitate off the ground. Ignoring the ill-concealed looks of fascination and wariness from Skelton and Rolf that she'd gotten used to over the years, she steadily guided the heavy trunk up on to the rack, and slid it neatly between her and Skelton's trunks.

She looked back at Skelton. "You didn't ask."

As they resumed their conversation, Lena couldn't get the image of their faces watching her do wandless magic out of her head. At least Rolf didn't stare at her open-mouthed anymore, she thought. That was some small consolation.

* * *

It was a little over an hour into the journey to Hogwarts when Lena and her two companions began to notice a small but steadily growing group of students, all Slytherins, hanging around outside their compartment.

"Flint, Burke, a couple of Sixth Years," listed Skelton, watching them out of the corner of her eye, "A few Seventh Years, some of the Third and Fourth Years – ugh, Selwyn and a few of our other skanky fellow Fifth Years are making their way towards us too. What have you done that you're not telling us, Lestrange?"

Lena grimaced. An idea had begun to form in her mind. It had been ten years, she thought as she started to twirl her hair around her fingers. Either he was showing up this year or the next. "I have a suspicion," she told Skelton and Rolf, "and it's not about what I've done, it's about what I might do."

"What is it?" asked Rolf, looking at her curiously.

Lena sighed, letting her hair go. She wanted to get this over with. "You'll see in a moment," she answered, and swiped her hand.

The door to the compartment flew open, evidently startling the dozen or so Slytherins outside. Lena stood up and strode over to the doorway, leaning against it. She surveyed her nervous-looking housemates before speaking.

"The fuck are you all doing out here?" she said calmly. A couple of the Third Years flinched.

They all looked around at each other, silently trying to select a spokesperson. After about five seconds, a Seventh Year called Blishwick appeared to have won the nomination. He cleared his throat.

"There's a rumour going around the train, Lestrange," he said, attempting to affect a bored tone, but failing. "A rumour that you might be interested to hear."

The other Slytherins watched her closely, some with bated breath and others with an unmistakable bloodlust, like she was a beast moments away from tearing the throat out of another creature.

Lena simply quirked an eyebrow at Blishwick. "Could it be possible," she began, effortlessly mastering the bored tone that he had attempted and failed, "that this rumour is about a boy called Harry Potter being on this train?"

The stunned reactions were enough to confirm her suspicions.

"How did you know?" demanded Aloysius Burke, one of the boys in her year. "Did somebody already tell you?"

Lena opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Dahlia Runcorn, another Fifth Year.

"No," said Runcorn in a hushed voice, "she probably already read our minds before she came out."

Lena barely held in a long-suffering groan. "No, Runcorn, I did not read your minds. I made a rather simple deduction based firstly on the fact that it's been ten years since the end of the last Wizarding War, so Potter would possibly be old enough to attend Hogwarts, and secondly on the sight of you lot congregating outside my compartment like a pack of hyenas."

The Slytherins' expressions were a mixture of impressed and offended.

"Now," continued Lena, "was that it, or was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention?" She watched as the Slytherins looked around at each other, and back to her. They appeared to be wanting a bigger reaction. Lena rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry," she deadpanned, "were you waiting for me to hunt down Potter on the train and do him in?"

The Slytherins shifted uncomfortably.

"We just..." Burke began to mutter, but Lena cut him off.

"What, expect me to go challenge 'the Boy Who Lived' to a duel?" she snapped. "Write 'Let's Kill Mudbloods' in large red lettering on the train windows? Send up a Dark Mark to show my undying support of Lord Voldemort?"

This time all the Slytherins visibly flinched, and several gasped.

Tara Selwyn, another Fifth Year who Lena despised, hissed, "You dare say-"

"Yeah, Selwyn, I do," interrupted Lena. "Now, as much as I've enjoyed this little chat," she said, addressing the entire gathering, "could you all just bloody well PISS OFF?!" And with that, she turned back around, and once more slammed the door using her wandless magic.

Lena settled back down on her seat and closed her eyes, her head falling back against the cushioned seat. She heard Skelton say, "Looks like they're all pissing off."

Something brushed against her hand. She opened her eyes and looked down to see Mortimer sitting on her left hand, staring up at her with a concerned expression.

Lena smiled at her little friend and lifted him up closer to her face. "I'm fine," she murmured, "Don't worry about me."

The lack of change in his expression showed that Mortimer clearly didn't believe her.

* * *

"Abbott, Hannah!"

Lena watched, while Mortimer napped in one of her robe's pockets, as a pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the Sorting Hat, and a moment later was Sorted into Hufflepuff. She made her way to her new house's table, and sat down. Lena's eyes flicked over to the very end of the table that was nearest to the doors of the Great Hall, where Rolf sat, at least two feet away from the nearest person. She felt a small pang of discomfort. In Rolf's first couple of years at Hogwarts, he'd had lots of friends in Hufflepuff. But after he and Lena had begun spending time together during their Third Year, all those housemates had been quick to cut their ties with him. Rolf became ostracised by the rest of Hufflepuff, the house reputed for its loyalty and fairness. All because he had fraternised with _Lena Lestrange_.

Lena was pulled out of her reverie when the rest of the Slytherins started clapping and cheering. She looked at Skelton, a question in her eyes.

"A Bulstrode," was Skelton's reply, and Lena let out a depressed sigh. Oh joy, she thought dryly, another one. One of the Slytherin girls in their year was called Olivia Bulstrode, and in Lena's opinion, she had the mental capacity of a troll, and a striking physical resemblance to one as well.

As the Sorting continued, Lena felt her anticipation grow. Harry Potter, the boy who had apparently vanquished Lord Voldemort, was at Hogwarts now, and was soon to be Sorted. She felt sure he was going to be in Gryffindor, but there was a small _what if_ at the back of her mind: what if he was put into Slytherin...

"Longbottom, Neville."

It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over Lena. She froze, her hands gripping the table so hard her knuckles were even whiter than usual. She only just managed to keep her face impassive, but she felt as though somebody was squeezing and twisting her insides. A lot of the older Slytherins were staring at her, and so were a few students from the other houses. She could even feel Snape's gaze from the teachers' table drilling into her. However, she didn't acknowledge any of their stares: her eyes never left the small, slightly pudgy boy that tripped over on his way to the Hat.

Longbottom. She'd never even realised there had been a child...

 _"Your parents and Rabastan have been arrested, Lena. They were caught torturing a married couple, the Longbottoms."_

 _"Tortured?"_

 _"To insanity, that's what people are saying. They were Aurors, purebloods too."_

 _"But why-"_

 _"It doesn't matter, Lena! Your parents and uncle and the other one who was with them, they're going to Azkaban, undoubtedly for life. And you can bet that right now the Ministry is doing everything they can to find you. The wards around this house will hold for a little while, but not forever. We have to go now, get out of England, before that happens!"_

 _"What about Aunt Narcissa-"_

 _"The Malfoys are doing everything they can to distance their selves from the Dark Lord, the last thing they're going to do is take in the child of his biggest supporters. Now, go get whatever things you need. We're leaving in five minutes."_

 _"Grandma-"_

 _"I said go get your things, Lena! For god's sake girl, for once in your life, listen to someone other than the Dark Lord and do what your told!"_

The Hat was taking its time to decide where to put the Longbottom boy. Lena couldn't tear her gaze away from him. What did you say to someone whose parents' lives had been utterly destroyed by your own mother?

It took a few minutes for the Hat to finally shout, "Gryffindor". Longbottom ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to 'MacDougal, Morag'. Lena didn't join in with their mirth. She just watched as he took his place among the Gryffindors. She presumed he knew the names of his parents' torturers, and wondered if any of the older Gryffindors would tell him that the daughter of the Lestranges was currently attending Hogwarts.

Lena could feel Skelton's gaze still on her, but before she could say anything, Professor McGonagall called out another familiar name: "Malfoy, Draco."

Lena's cousin, who she hadn't seen in ten years, swaggered forward. She noted his clear physical similarities to his parents, and had more than an inkling that the shared qualities would go far deeper than that – which was confirmed when the Hat screamed "SLYTHERIN" after barely touching his head.

The small blonde boy with a pointed face practically strutted over to the Slytherin table, that was cheering and applauding him. As he sat down next to two fellow First Years, his eyes swept along the table, and Lena had a suspicion that he was looking for her – presumably his parents had told him about her. Malfoy's gaze finally found hers, and he appeared to immediately identify her, his eyes slightly widening. Lena maintained the eye contact, keeping her expression bored. After a few seconds, an uncomfortable Malfoy turned away, back to the Sorting. Lena turned to Skelton, who was watching her curiously.

"My cousin," said Lena, answering the unasked question. "Haven't seen him since he was a baby."

"So he knows you're related?" asked Skelton in a low voice.

"Looks like it. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to introduce himself to me when we get back to the common room, so I'm going to head up to our dorm straight away."

There was one more First Year sorted into Slytherin – Pansy Parkinson – before the name that Lena had been waiting all night to hear was called out.

"Potter, Harry."

Lena saw a bespectacled boy with black hair step out of the line as whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall. Lena ignored them as her eyes, like they had done with Longbottom, closely followed Potter as he made his way to the Sorting Hat, which was placed on his head, dropping over his eyes. The hall suddenly became silent as the students waited.

It took a little less than thirty seconds for the Hat to shout Gryffindor, and a clearly relieved Potter shakily walked to his house's table. Lena wasn't at all surprised to hear that he was receiving the loudest cheer yet, and she could distinctly hear the Weasley twins of Gryffindor yelling, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

So her prediction had been correct – Potter had been sorted into Gryffindor. But Lena couldn't help feeling curious about what the Hat had said to him. She smiled wryly, remembering her own Sorting.

 _"Lestrange, Lena."_

 _There was a momentary silence, then the heated whispering began as Lena made her way up to the stool where the Sorting Hat stood. She ignored the noise, looking straight ahead without a hint of emotion; her Great Aunt Valeriya had told her to expect this sort of reaction. She would be entering Hogwarts with a reputation attached to her name, and there was nothing she could do about it._

 _She sat on the stool, and Professor McGonagall – who couldn't quite conceal an apprehensive look – placed the Sorting Hat on Lena's head, just covering her eyes._

 _Lena waited to hear the voice that Aunt Valeriya had told her about, but nothing happened. A small panic began to grow inside her, until about ten seconds later, when something finally happened._

 _It was as though somebody was standing outside the protective barrier around her mind, and politely knocking on it, like they wanted her to open a door. Surprised, Lena tried to detect where it was coming from. After a couple of seconds, she pinpointed where the action was originating from, and hesitantly knocked back. The knocking from outside stopped._

 _A small voice, like a whisper, spoke: 'You need to let me in.'_

 _'What?' asked a confused Lena._

 _She heard a noise like an impatient sigh. 'Your mind, you need to let me in. I can't get in at the moment, your defences are too strong.'_

 _Lena hesitated. She never took down the barrier. 'Why do you need to come in?'_

 _'So I can Sort you. I need to see inside your head in order to figure out which house you are best suited to.'_

 _Lena was still wary. 'What kind of things do you actually need to see?'_

 _There was a weird smacking noise. It took a moment for Lena to realise that this was the Hat's equivalent of a face-palm. 'I need to see your entire mind, child. That's how it works.'_

 _'But what if there's things I don't want you to see?' inquired Lena._

 _The Hat was beginning to sound quite aggravated. 'What, you want me to Sort you based on only the best aspects of your personality? Don't be ridiculous.'_

 _'I'm not concerned about my personality,' replied Lena. 'I'm talking about memories.'_

 _'Why?' said the Hat, its interest piqued. 'Got some particularly juicy ones?'_

 _Lena mentally frowned. 'I've got some that I'd rather keep to myself, yes.'_

 _The Hat sounded incredulous. 'And what, you're afraid if I see them that they're somehow going to get out to other people?'_

 _'Well, you're going into a lot of people's minds-"_

 _The Hat interrupted her. 'Are you that self-centred that you think I'm going to start discussing you with the other First Years instead of fulfilling my purpose of Sorting them? Or do you think," the Hat continued, its voice laced with sarcasm, 'that sometimes throughout the rest of the school year, while I'm sitting up there in the Headmaster's office, that Dumbledore gets worried that I'm feeling lonely and puts me on to give me some company, and we gossip about all the students I've Sorted?'_

 _There was a pause._

 _'Actually, I was more worried about what you'd say at the next Sentient Hat Convention.'_

 _'You,' growled the Hat, 'are far too snarky for someone of your age.' Suddenly, its tone changed. 'Anyway, why do you think what you've got in your mind is so much more interesting than anyone else's? Maybe I've already Sorted someone this year who's got a far more fascinating mind then yours.'_

 _Lena mentally snorted. 'Nice try, but I do understand the principle of reverse psychology.'_

 _'Of course you do,' muttered the Hat. 'Look, are you trying for the record of the longest Hat Stall? Because they're not taking me off your head until you're Sorted, and I can't Sort you until you let me look around your head. Even if,' the Hat added, 'I've already got a decent suspicion about which house you belong in.'_

 _Lena considered this for a moment, before acquiescing. 'Fine, you can come in. Just wait a second.'_

 _The Hat made a sound of relief, as Lena did the mental equivalent of throwing a sheet over some of the memories she didn't want seen under any circumstances. She then made a door appear in the barrier, and opened it, tensing at the intrusion as the Hat flooded inside._

 _She felt it look around for a moment before saying in an accusing tone, 'You're still hiding some of your memories.'_

 _'Believe me, you've got more than enough to work with here.'_

 _The Hat looked around for another few seconds, before admitting in a begrudged voice, 'You_ are _very impressive.'_

 _Lena smirked. 'So I've been told. Often.'_

 _The Hat, however, snorted. 'There's no need to put on that arrogant act in here. I can see that it's just a way of concealing your insecurities.'_

 _The smirk was wiped of her face. 'Well?' demanded Lena. 'Are you going to Sort me or not?'_

 _'I was patient with you before,' scolded the Hat, 'so I think you can afford me that same privilege.'_

 _Lena rolled her eyes, but said nothing._

 _'Yes,' murmured the Hat. 'Exceedingly intelligent, and eager in the pursuit of knowledge. Yet... no. Hmm, an interesting sort of bravery, and a desire to walk your own path. But still...you have such a true cunning that it would be a shame not to place you...not to mention your ambition...'_

 _At the mention of ambition, one of the memories Lena had been hiding inadvertently surfaced for a moment, before she viciously shoved it back down._

 _But the Hat had seen. 'What's Hecate's Orb, then?' it asked slyly._

 _'Fuck off,' snapped Lena, furious with herself for the slip-up._

 _'Ooh, you have got quite the potty-mouth on you,' sneered the Hat._

 _'You were created for one purpose,' snarled Lena, 'so why don't you just do your bloody job, and Sort me.'_

 _The Hat appeared to sense that it had entered dangerous territory. 'Fine. Well, it's been a pleasure, Miss Lestrange. Now, let's see how you do in SLYTHERIN!'_

 _The Hat shouted the last word out loud, and it was pulled off Lena's head. She blinked as applause of varying levels of enthusiasm began, and stood up. She steadily made her way to the Slytherin table, where her new housemates watched her keenly. Lena didn't acknowledge any of them, she was too busy thinking about her conversation with the Sorting Hat._

"Zabini, Blaise."

The Sorting of the final First Year into Slytherin brought Lena back to reality, and she politely applauded as the boy joined the rest of his house.

Dumbledore got up to say a few words before they ate, and Lena quite liked the literal approach he took. Then the food appeared.

"You know," said Skelton as she began to fill her plate, "I reckon the food is one of my top three favourite things about Hogwarts." She took a mouthful of sweet potato. "Top two, actually."

Lena gave her a small, distracted smile in reply, as she helped herself to a bread roll. It had certainly been an eventful first day of the new school year.


	3. Behind the Door

**So this is a bit of a long one, but hopefully not a boring one :)**

* * *

The next morning, Lena was up and getting ready for the day by 5:00am. It was only a little earlier than usual for her, as she generally preferred to eat breakfast in a mostly, if not completely empty, Great Hall. On this occasion, however, she had something to do before she ate.

She moved around the dormitory quietly, careful not to wake Skelton, who was not a morning person and usually didn't rise until about half-an-hour before the first class of the day.

A final check in the mirror told Lena she was ready to leave, and she walked over to the door. She was stopped by a small sound coming from her bedside table: an enquiring Mortimer. Lena sighed, and went over to him. He looked up at her with a pleading expression.

"Fine," she whispered, picking him up. "You can come." She put him on her shoulder so he would be able to quickly hide in her hair if they came across anyone. Skelton and Rolf were the only people who knew about the bowtruckle, and Lena wanted to keep it that way.

Double-checking that her wand was in the pocket of her school robe, Lena finally left the dorm and made her way upstairs to the common room, and after checking that it was empty, crossed it. She walked through the passage that led out to the stone wall that was the entrance of the Slytherin Dungeons. Reaching it, the wall opened and Lena exited.

As she walked towards the staircase that led out of the Hogwarts Dungeons, Lena reflected on what Dumbledore had said the previous night after they'd finished eating. Apparently, the corridor on the third-floor was 'out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death'. The headmaster had not mentioned why this was, so naturally Lena's destination this morning was the third-floor, to find out for herself.

Lena ran through the possibilities in her head as she climbed the stairs. Was it an object of Dark magic? She had come across such things many times during the period of childhood spent abroad – not to mention in Knockturn Alley, where she currently resided when not at Hogwarts – that could certainly cause 'a very painful death'. But it was so unlikely, thought Lena as she reached the ground-floor and made beeline to the tapestries that concealed a narrow staircase that led to the second-floor, that Dumbledore would allow an artefact related to the Dark Arts into Hogwarts. Unless, considered Lena, moving the tapestries aside and beginning her ascent, the reason for bringing it here was to prevent somebody else from taking and using it.

Lena distractedly avoided the trick step halfway up the staircase, and frowned to herself. Surely the safest place to hide something in Hogwarts would be in the Headmaster's office, not the third-floor corridor. But, she conceded as she reached the second-floor, it would also be the most expected place. And Dumbledore was by no means a fool – if he was truly concerned about someone wanting to take whatever he was hiding, the headmaster would not be so predictable.

But then why the third-floor corridor? Lena racked her brains as drew closer to the staircase leading up to the Charms corridor on the third-floor. As far as she knew – and she had taken the last four years to get to know Hogwarts very well – there was nothing special about the third-floor corridor. Perhaps, she thought, there was a passageway that she didn't know about that led to somewhere less conspicuous in the castle.

Lena walked along the Charms corridor towards the door that separated it from the third-floor corridor, feeling even more confused than she had before. If the third-floor simply contained a hidden entrance, what was so dangerous there that Dumbledore didn't want any students to stumble upon?

Lena abruptly stopped at the door, her mind whirring. What if it wasn't whatever was being hidden that was the immediate cause of the danger? If it was just something very valuable or had the potential to be very powerful? Something that needed layers of protection around it?

Lena let out a long breath, staring at the door. Whatever was behind it wasn't what Dumbledore was protecting. It was whatever was protecting _it_ – or at least one of the things protecting it, realised Lena. Presumably there were several layers of defence, if it was so important.

It all brought Lena back to her initial question: what was directly behind the door that was so dangerous? She pressed an ear to the door and thought she could hear some sort of noise, but wasn't sure what. Cautiously, she tried turning the doorknob. It was locked.

She ran through the facts in her mind. There was something behind the door that would probably try to kill her the moment she entered the corridor. However, it was most likely guarding the entrance to somewhere else. And that, rationalised Lena, meant Dumbledore needed to be able to get past it, so he would be able to reach the something that he was protecting. So, she concluded, there was a way to enter the corridor and not be killed. The only question was if Lena would have the necessary ability to do.

For a moment, she reviewed everything she had so far accomplished in her life. Then she made her decision.

Lena reached inside her pocket for her wand, but before she could take it out, she felt Mortimer tugging on her hair. She took him off her shoulder, and held him in front of her to see what he wanted. He gestured towards the door, then himself.

Lena smiled at him indulgently. "Well," she said to Mortimer, "if you're that desperate to do something useful, I don't see why not."

She held him out directly in front of the door's lock, and the bowtruckle extended his twiggy arms towards it. Less than three seconds later, there was a click. Mortimer clambered back up Lena's arm to his position on her shoulder as she tried the doorknob again. This time, the door opened. Lena stepped through, and for the second time in her life, came face to face with a three-headed dog.

Mortimer let out a terrified squeak.

'Bugger,' she thought, as the creature fixed all six of its angry eyes on her, and let out a growl. 'Not again.'

* * *

 _Thursday 17 June, 1982_

 _"Where are we going?" a six-and-a-half year old Lena asked her Aunt Valeriya as they briskly walked past the Grossmünster, one of the four main churches in Zürich. The rising sun cast a glow across the city, but there was no stopping and appreciating the sight for Lena, who practically had to jog to keep up with her aunt's long strides._

 _Aunt Valeriya didn't even look at her as she replied, "I told you. To Lustenberger's."_

 _Lena struggled to keep in an impatient noise as her aunt named the man who organised the international (and illegal, Lena suspected) Portkeys that Aunt Valeriya used to travel around the world. Lena had been to Lustenberger's place several times with her already._

 _"I know that," said Lena. "I meant where are we going_ from _there."_

 _Aunt Valeriya glanced down at her. "It's a surprise."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because I said so."_

 _This time, Lena didn't hold in her aggravated sigh. Aunt Valeriya used the phrase 'Because I said so' far too often for Lena's liking. '_ He _would have given me a proper reason,' thought Lena mutinously, before shoving the thought away. It still hurt too much to think about her old teacher._

 _They crossed a street, drawing closer to the banks of the Limmat River, where Lustenberger lived. There was very little traffic on the roads, and the few people they'd passed had mostly been joggers. Lena had discovered early on that Aunt Valeriya preferred to travel through cities at the least busy times of the day. This had led her to once ask her aunt why she didn't just directly apparate to Lustenberger's._

 _"He has anti-apparition wards around his place," her aunt had told her, "and there aren't any discrete places nearby to apparate into. Besides," she added sternly, "it's good for wizards and witches to walk to places instead of relying on magic to always get them from A to B. Allowing yourself to become totally reliant on one thing is both dangerous and stupid."_

 _That was one of the many pieces of advice Aunt Valeriya had given her. In fact, Lena had to admit she'd learned a lot in the six months she'd known Valeriya Dolohov._

 _After her parents' arrest, Lena's paternal grandmother, Irina Lestrange, had quickly taken her out of Britain, and to a house in northern Switzerland that one of her ancestors had built in the late eighteenth century. Lena had been surprised by her grandmother's sudden desire to take responsibility for her – after all, Irina had never shown any real affection or even interest in her before. When she'd asked Irina why she was looking after her, her grandmother's response had been a vague answer about family duty. Lena had warily accepted it, and that was the last that was said of the matter._

 _About six weeks after coming to Switzerland, Lena had met Irina's sister, Valeriya, for the first time. She'd previously met their brother, Antonin Dolohov, several times while back in England, as he had been a Death Eater like her parents and Uncle Rabastan (and was now also incarcerated like them). However, Aunt Valeriya was very different to her siblings. She didn't even look related to them, except for sharing the same blue-grey eyes that Lena had also inherited. While Irina and Antonin were tall, dark-haired and long-faced, Valeriya had cork-screw curly blonde hair that stuck out like a mane around her head, and her cheeks were round and full. She also looked at least ten years younger than her fifty years, and was almost a head shorter than Irina. But despite looking far less intimidating than her siblings, Lena had very quickly discovered that Valeriya was far more dangerous than Irina, and quite possibly Antonin as well._

 _Aunt Valeriya was a dealer in Dark artefacts, discovering, buying and selling them to a clientele that stretched all across Europe, and even parts of Asia and Africa. She had connections with some of the most wanted wizards and witches in the world, and was respected (and feared) by many who worked in the world of the Dark Arts. She was undoubtedly a brilliant witch, and Lena, who was desperately missing her previous mentor, welcomed her Great Aunt's new presence in her life._

 _In turn, Aunt Valeriya had been incredibly impressed by her great-niece, from her extraordinary control over what was supposed to be 'accidental' magic, to the fact that Lena, at age six, was a more accomplished Occlumens than almost all grown wizards and witches Valeriya had met. So, deciding it would be a wasted opportunity if not taken, Aunt Valeriya started taking Lena on some of her more safe trips around Europe, allowing her niece to witness the deals she made. Through this exposure, Lena was beginning to develop a greater knowledge and understanding of the Dark Arts – something that Lord Voldemort had promised to teach her, but never got around to before his downfall._

 _Now, as Lena followed her aunt down the familiar route to Lustenberger's, she couldn't help but feel a mixture of irritation and appreciation for Aunt Valeriya. She hated the way her aunt gave her orders without allowing room for questioning them – Voldemort had rarely ever minded if Lena argued back, and had usually been more than happy to engage in a spirited discussion with his pupil. But on the hand, thought Lena as they approached Lustenberger's door, she had spent most of her life back in England shut up in her parents' house; with Aunt Valeriya, she was getting to see more of the world than she'd ever dreamed she would see while still a child._

 _Aunt Valeriya knocked on the door three times. She and Lena waited for about ten seconds, until the door opened to reveal an old, white-haired man. He stood back and gestured for them to come in, grinning._

 _"Valeriya, wie geht es dir? Und Fraulein Lena, es ist schön dich wiederzusehen," Lustenberger greeted them as they stepped inside._

 _Lena, hoping she had understood correctly, smiled. "Hallo, Herr Lustenberger. Ich bin gut, danke."_

 _Lustenberger chuckled, before speaking in broken English. "The Deutsch ist coming gut then, ja?"_

 _Lena, with an inquiring gaze at Lustenberger, hesitantly responded, "Stück für Stück?"_

 _Lustenberger gave her a grandfatherly smile back. "Ja, bit by bit."_

 _Aunt Valeriya cleared her throat. "Yes, as delightful as Lena's progress with the German language is, could we get a move on, please? We're on something of a schedule."_

 _Lena wasn't sure whether Lustenberger understood word-for-word what her aunt was saying, but he seemed to catch the general meaning, as he nodded and led them through his neatly-kept house, and to his workshop at the back, that looked out onto the river._

 _On the table in the workshop lay half-a-dozen or so everyday objects, which Lena knew to be Portkeys. Lustenberger gestured to a perfume bottle and a pocket French dictionary._

 _"Bottle is to get there, book to get back," he said to Aunt Valeriya._

 _"Times?"_

 _"Go at 6:05, come back Swiss time ten a.m.. Eleven in Greek time," he added._

 _"We're going to Greece?" Lena asked her aunt, excited._

 _"Yes," answered Aunt Valeriya shortly._

 _"Where?" pressed Lena._

 _"Mykonos."_

 _Before Lena could ask anything else, Lustenberger picked up the two Portkeys and gave them to Aunt Valeriya. She put the dictionary in the inside pocket of her lightweight grey coat, and held the perfume bottle out to Lena._

 _"Hand on," she ordered her, and Lena obeyed, grasping the bottle._

 _Lustenberger took out a pocket watch. "Fifteen seconds," he told them. "Gute reise!"_

 _Lena, suspecting he was wishing them a good trip, replied, "Danke, Herr Lustenberger," and tried to prepared herself for the uncomfortable feeling in her navel that accompanied Portkey travel._

 _Then came the jerking feeling, and Lena clenched her eyes shut. She felt the floor of Lustenberger's workshop disappear beneath her. A few unpleasant seconds later, Lena felt her feet meet ground again. She opened her eyes as she released the perfume bottle and stumbled back, barely retaining her footing. Aunt Valeriya, meanwhile, had landed with the certainty and grace of an experienced Portkey traveller._

 _Lena looked around. They had appeared at the bottom of a hill, and were surrounded by dry looking trees. Within seconds, Lena felt the dramatic temperature change, and regretted the choice she'd made that morning of wearing black leggings. 'Then again', she thought to herself, 'it's really Aunt Valeriya's fault for not telling me where we were going.' She removed the maroon cardigan she'd be wearing over her short-sleeved white peasant blouse, and felt a bit more comfortable. Aunt Valeriya also had taken off her coat, and was folding it carefully over her arm so that the dictionary wouldn't fall out. She had dropped the perfume bottle on the ground, and once she was finished with her coat, pointed her wand at the bottle._

 _"Incendio."_

 _The bottle burst into flames. Aunt Valeriya waited for a few moments, taking the time to adjust her light blue blouse and black dragon-hide trousers. Lena had never seen her wear witches' robes. Finally, her aunt put out the fire. The bottle was now a small piles of ashes._

 _Aunt Valeriya checked her wristwatch, and turned to Lena. "Come along, then. We'd better get moving."_

 _The hill wasn't too steep, but the heat slowed their climb up the hill a little. But once Lena reached the top, she was impressed by the view. The hill looked down on the nearest town, which due to its small size, Lena supposed wasn't the main town of Mykonos. There were about thirty or so white building, all cramped together, and there was a fountain in the town's centre. Some way past the town was a sandy beach, and the very blue sea. Lena imagined it would be quite a beautiful place to live – if you liked that sort of thing. Personally, she preferred somewhere with less sun._

 _"Are we going there?" she asked Aunt Valeriya, pointing at the town._

 _Aunt Valeriya nodded, and checked her watch again. "Come on, I'm supposed to be meeting him in six minutes."_

 _They began their descent, and Lena asked what the purpose of the visit was._

 _"The man we're meeting, Markellos, has a collection of cursed books he wants to sell, " Aunt Valeriya explained. "And it just so happens that I know a witch in Finland who's looking for a certain few volumes."_

 _Lena wrinkled her nose. "Why does she want cursed books?"_

 _"I didn't ask," said Aunt Valeriya delicately._

 _"Okay then, how about hypothetically?" persisted Lena. "Why would someone knowingly buy cursed books?"_

 _Aunt Valeriya gave her a sidelong glance. "Try to figure it out yourself," she said._

 _Lena began twirling a strand of hair that had escaped the ponytail she'd done that morning. "Well," she began, "I suppose... it could be for academic purposes."_

 _"Academic purposes?"_

 _"Yeah," said Lena. "You know, to study them. To understand how the curses exactly work."_

 _"That' s a rather optimistic notion," replied Aunt Valeria dryly._

 _"It's what I would do with them," said Lena defensively._

 _Aunt Valeriya snorted. "I'm sure you would. However, I'm more inclined to believe that the general reason would be to give them to your enemy, in the hope they become a victim of whatever curse the book holds. "_

 _"That sounds like an unnecessarily elaborate form of revenge," remarked Lena. "And risky too."_

 _"Well, some people like to be creative," shrugged Aunt Valeriya. "Nothing wrong with that."_

 _Eventually, they reached the edge of the town. Lena stared at some of the plants. They didn't look muggle. An owl suddenly flew out of a second-storey window, and Lena could just make out something attached to its leg._

 _"This is a Wizarding town?" she asked Aunt Valeriya._

 _"Yes. Its name in English is Mykons' Grove," her aunt told her as they walked though the main street. "One of only five entirely magically-populated towns left in Greece."_

 _Aunt Valeriya led her all the way to the other side of the town, to a house that stood a little away from the others. Unlike them, it was only one-storey, and looked less well-kept. It was surround by a small fence, and had a front garden that was completely overrun with various sorts of weeds. Aunt Valeriya opened the front gate, and ushered Lena through. They walked down a small path that led to the dark blue front door. Its paint was peeling. There was a rusty sun-shaped door-knocker in its centre that Aunt Valeriya used. She then wiped her hand on her trousers, an expression of distaste evident on her face. Lena waited silently, curious. What sort of wizard lived here?_

 _They heard a loud thud, and a yell of pain, and Lena inadvertently took a step back. She heard continued muttering drawing closer to the door, which was suddenly flung open. A portly, middle-aged wizard with a bushy beard stood there, wearing a short, red dressing-gown, and not much else. He wand was stuck in the girdle of the gown, and his knee was bleeding._

 _For a second he just stood there, staring at Aunt Valeriya, who looked at him impassively._

 _"Markellos, I presume?" she said._

 _The wizard, Markellos, seemed to regain his wits. "Yes, yes. And you are Valeriya Dolohov?" His voice was gruff, and thickly accented, but eloquent. He held out his hand, and Aunt Valeriya shook it._

 _"Yes," she replied._

 _"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Dolohov," said Markellos. "I've heard much about you and-"_

 _He stopped abruptly, when he realised she wasn't alone._

 _"My niece," answered Aunt Valeriya before he could ask. "Lena."_

 _Lena didn't bother making the correction that she was technically Valeriya's great-niece. The last time she had, it'd led to a long and boring conversation about how Valeriya didn't look old enough to be a Great Aunt. Instead, she simply extended her hand to Markellos. "Hello."_

 _An amused Markellos accepted the offered hand and shook it gently but firmly. "Hello to you." He raised his thick eyebrows at Aunt Valeriya. "Your business associate?"_

 _"More of an apprentice," said Lena before her aunt could respond. This prompted a chuckle from Markellos._

 _"Well then, Miss Apprentice, why don't you come in and offer me your expertise," he said, and stood back from the threshold. Lena entered, followed by Aunt Valeriya._

 _The inside of the house appeared to be in as poor condition as the outside. There also appeared to be something sticky on the floor. Lena guessed that Markellos slipping over in it had probably being the source of the earlier thudding sound._

 _"Ah, yes," said Markellos sheepishly, following Lena's gaze. "I should probably clean that up." He grabbed his wand from his girdle, and muttered a spell under his breath. The sticky substance vanished, and the three of them continued their way further into the messy house. It was very dark, as none of the windows appeared to be open, and it was cluttered with books, cauldrons, and more than a few objects that Lena couldn't identify. Finally, they reached Markellos' study. Lena peered in, but couldn't see anything clearly: it was too dark._

 _Markellos pointed his wand somewhere into the middle of the room, and suddenly there was light. It was not a large room, and it was made even smaller by the large desk and piles of papers and books that occupied it. However, all three of them managed to squeeze in, and Lena looked around in interest. The walls of the study were covered in paintings, sketches, tapestries and maps; most of them look related to Ancient Greece. The desk was also full of objects and books. One small statue particularly piqued Lena's interest. It was about a foot high, and if Lena was to hazard a guess, it looked to be made of obsidian. It depicted a woman in ancient Greek garb, holding a skull in one hand and some sort of sphere in the other. But the most unusual thing about her, was that she appeared to have three faces: the normal one on the front of the head, and one on either side, together all forming a kind of triangular head. Lena was intrigued by the expression carved on to the statue's front face. It was the face, Lena thought, of someone who_ knew _more than anyone else could_ imagine _._

 _"Hecate."_

 _Startled, Lena turned around to see Markellos was looking at her. Aunt Valeriya was engrossed in one of the tapestries on the wall._

 _"Sorry?" Lena asked Markellos._

 _"It is a statue of Hecate," he said, gesturing to the item. "Have you heard of her?"_

 _"No. Who is she?"_

 _Markellos shuffled forward so he was leaning against the desk, and directly next to Lena. "Some of the muggles, mostly Greeks like myself, of the ancient times believed her to be a goddess. But-"_

 _"The goddess of what?" interrupted Lena._

 _"Several things," answered Markellos. "But most commonly magic. Particularly necromancy, but also what we today call Herbology."_

 _Lena furrowed her brow, and unconsciously began to play with her hair. "Necromancy? Like, raising the dead?"_

 _Markellos nodded. "Of course, in truth she wasn't a goddess – just a very powerful witch who lived in Greece over 2000 years ago. Supposedly, she lived for a very long time, hence the belief she was immortal."_

 _"How long?"_

 _"Magical historians estimate about three centuries."_

 _Lena rarely gaped, but on this occasion she couldn't help it. "Three centuries? But how?"_

 _Markellos shrugged. "Alas, we do not know for sure. There are theories, of course, such as that she made an early prototype of the Philosopher's Stone-"_

 _"The what?"_

 _"Have you heard of Nicolas Flamel?" he asked, and Lena shook her head. "He is the oldest living wizard today. The Philosopher's Stone is a creation of his, and has kept him alive for over six hundred years."_

 _Lena digested this information silently. So the secret to immortality_ had _been found. Lord Voldemort had once hinted to her that there were ways to extend the span of the natural Wizarding life..._

 _"But there is a much more likely theory," Markellos was continuing, "that it was not a Philosopher's Stone that kept Hecate alive, but a branch of the Dark Arts."_

 _"To do with Necromancy?"_

 _Markellos grimaced. "Not exactly. More along the lines of a Horcrux."_

 _"And what's a Horcrux?" said Lena immediately._

 _"It's something you can read about in a book." It was not Markellos who had responded, but Aunt Valeriya, who had apparently finished her examination of the tapestry. "In the mean time," she went on, turning her attention to Markellos, "I think it's about time I had a look at those books. They are, after all, what I travelled across the continent to see."_

 _Markellos smiled apologetically at Lena, and picked up a box from the floor and put it on the only available space left on the desk. As he began to pull some books out of it, Aunt Valeriya pushed Lena away from where she was standing next to him, and took her spot. Lena ended up back near the doorway. Markellos and Aunt Valeriya began to discuss the books. Usually, Lena would stay near them and listen to their conversation in order to pick up whatever new titbits of information she could. However, the discussion of cursed books was a little dull after the prior one about Hecate and immortality, and this combined with the cramped conditions of the study, meant that Lena couldn't muster her usual enthusiasm._

 _Bored, she stepped out into the small hallway that had led to the study, and looked around Markellos' house. Her eyes landed on the last door across the hallway, a couple of metres to her left. It was dark blue, like the front door, but this one appeared to have been repainted recently. In fact, it looked like the only part of the house in good shape. Curious, Lena walked over to it. With a closer look, she realised the door hadn't been repainted – it was entirely new, probably about a year or two old. She tried the handle, but it was locked._

 _Lena stared at the door, curiosity raging inside her. She wanted to know what was behind the door. She made a decision._

 _She quickly crossed back to the study and checked inside to see if Aunt Valeriya and Markellos were still entirely focussed on the cursed books. Confirming that they were, she went back to the newer door and raised her right hand. She closed her eyes and concentrated hard while twisting her hand. At first, it didn't look like it was going to work, but Lena gritted her teeth and twisted her hand harder. Finally, there was a popping noise, and the door swung back, revealing a steep wooden staircase that led down. Cautiously, she stepped onto the landing and looked down, trying to see where it led to, but all she could see was darkness._

 _Clutching the hand-railing, Lena began to slowly descend the staircase. It was not long before she found herself at the bottom. She released the railing, and concentrated hard again. A small flame appeared in her right hand, partially illuminating the basement she'd found herself in. She held the flame out, and scanned the room. It was difficult to see, but she noticed some torn blankets on the floor. She took a few steps forward, and saw that there were several large, chewed bones among the ripped up material._

 _A little more worried now, Lena studied the stone walls of the basement. There were huge gouges in them, like scratch-marks from a giant beast._

 _Lena hurriedly concluded that coming down here might not have been the smartest idea, and turned back towards the stairs. But there was now something standing between Lena and her exit. An enormous something with three heads, six glowing eyes, and lots and lots of teeth._

 _Lena froze, terrified. She tried to scream, in the hope that Aunt Valeriya would hear her and come to the rescue, but she couldn't make a sound. All she could do was stare at what looked to be a three-headed dog, and feel its hot breath across her face as it panted._

 _Suddenly, one of the dog heads began to growl lowly. The other two followed suit, and the creature tensed, about to strike. Lena, finally recovering from her terror, shrieked, and threw herself backwards, unintentionally extinguishing the flame in her hand. She heard, rather than saw, the creature lunge towards her, but she instinctively threw her hands in front of her, and there was a loud crashing sound, followed by a loud yelp. A chunk of stone had fallen from the ceiling onto one of the heads. Lena held her breath, hoping it was injured and would back off. Instead, there was the sound of the stone being shoved aside, and an angry snarl. Six glowing eyes glared at her._

 _Lena, believing she only had seconds until she was killed by this beast, desperately tried to think of a way to stop it, but she could think of nothing._

 _Suddenly, she heard music coming from behind the creature. Light flooded the room, and Lena saw the creature twitching. All six eyes began to droop. It slowly lay down, and Lena saw the sources of the music and light: Markellos, standing on the bottom step, playing panpipes, and Aunt Valeriya standing a few stairs behind him, her wand pointed out, emitting a glowing light. The beast's breathing changed, and Lena realised it was asleep._

 _Aunt Valeriya made a 'come here' motion to Lena, who cautiously walked around the three-headed dog, slipped past Markellos – who was still playing the panpipes – and followed her aunt back up the stairs into the dimly-lit hallway. Aunt Valeriya extinguished the light coming from her wand, spun around to face a trembling Lena, and smacked her across the back of the head. An embarrassed Lena didn't make any protest. She felt it was well-earned._

 _"How," hissed Aunt Valeriya, "could you have been so completely moronic to do what you just did?"_

 _Lena stared at the floor, and mumbled, "I just wanted to know what was down there."_

 _"Maximus," answered Markellos, who had just emerged from the stairs. He shut the door behind him and locked it with magic. "I bought him off a friend from Sparta a couple of years ago when he was just a puppy." He looked at Lena in confusion. "How did you get through the door? I thought I'd locked it."_

 _"'Accidental magic' is not usually so 'accidental' for Lena," said Aunt Valeriya grimly. "I'm very sorry about this, Markellos. I've never known my niece to act so stupidly before."_

 _Markellos shrugged. "It is fine. No harm done."_

 _"Actually," said Lena in small voice, cringing as the adults both stared down at her, "I sort of damaged your ceiling. I dropped some of it on its, um, on Maximus' head."_

 _"He'll be fine," said Markellos dismissively. "You'd have to drop an entire building on him before there was any serious damage done. There aren't even any curses you can use against him. This," he waved the panpipes, "is the only way to stop him. Puts him right to sleep."_

 _"The panpipes?"_

 _"Music," he corrected her. "Of any kind. It's the only defence against a three-headed dog, unless you can get your hands on a beast more dangerous – and it's pretty unlikely you'd be able to control anything more dangerous than a three-headed dog. Now," he said to Aunt Valeriya, who was still glaring at Lena, "why don't we step back into my study, and finalise this deal. And you," he spoke to Lena again, "can stay in our sight the whole time. Understand?"_

 _Lena nodded, now more mortified by the whole experience than terrified._

 _"Good," said Markellos. He pointed to the study. "Shall we?"_

* * *

 _Back in the Present_

Lena jumped back and slammed the door shut in front of her, just as the three-headed dog lunged towards her. Breathing heavily, she stared at the door, listening to the snarls of the creature behind it. So there was literally a guard dog for whatever Dumbledore was hiding.

Lena turned around and began to walk back through the Charms corridor, before stopping. In her hurry to get away from the beast, she hadn't had a chance to look around to confirm her suspicion that the corridor held an entrance to a passageway. She bit her lip, and looked back at the door. She thought back to what Markellos had told her nine years ago: " _Music. Of an kind."_

In a second, she had made up her mind. She spun back around and strode towards the door, ignoring a still-traumatised Mortimer's noises of protestation and his tugging on her hair. She grabbed the doorknob, and paused. The three-headed dog was still directly up against the door, sniffing around. She would have to start the music before she entered. Turning around, she cast a sound-muffling charm around her. The last thing she wanted was to draw the attention of anyone while she was right in front of the forbidden corridor.

Lena took a deep breath and began to sing. It was a simple Wizarding folk song from Switzerland about a black flower that was native to it. Lena was not an especially talented singer, so the tune's narrow range suited her well.

She continued to sing as she pressed her ear against the door. The creature had stopped growling, and its breathing was gradually becoming slower. Lena allowed herself a small smile. It might not have been working as quickly as Markellos' panpipes, but her singing was working nonetheless.

After about twenty seconds, Lena decided it was safe to open the door. The three-headed dog lay about half a metre away from the corridor's entrance, fast asleep. Continuing to sing, Lena carefully walked around it, and went further into the corridor. She found what she was looking for immediately. A trap door.

She quickly walked up to it, and pulled it open. Her singing faltered for a second as she looked down into it, and the creature briefly stirred, before refocussed her attention on the song.

It looked like a long drop down. She non-verbally cast _Lumos_ and pointed her wand down, but she couldn't see where the trapdoor led. Presumably, it went down as least as far as the Dungeons.

Mildly disappointed at the lack of information she was able to garner, she put the light out and closed the trap door. She didn't stop singing until she had exited the corridor, and relocked the door.

Lena made her way back through the Charms corridor. Mortimer was muttering mutinously on her shoulder, evidently still cross that Lena had gone _back_ into the room with the huge monster rather than running away in the opposite direction the first chance she'd got. Lena ignored him, descending to the second-floor.

Something incredibly important was being hidden at Hogwarts by Albus Dumbledore, and Lena had every intention of finding out what.


	4. Suspicions and Rumours

**Author's Note: So this chapter is partly told from a perspective other than Lena's, which is something that will happen throughout the story.**

 **I'm aware that in the earlier editions of the books, Marcus Flint is in Sixth Year in Philosopher's Stone. But as the later editions change this to Fifth Year, I'll be going with that for this story.**

* * *

 _Monday 16 September, 1991:_

"Come on, Neville, McGonagall said she'd give us detention if we were late again!"

"I'm coming!"

Harry Potter watched as Neville Longbottom jogged up the corridor to catch up to where he, Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were waiting for their housemate. Over the past two weeks at Hogwarts, the five First Year Gryffindor boys had decided it was better to travel together through the unfamiliar castle. For one thing, it helped to have more minds working together to navigate their way through the labyrinth of corridors and staircases. And for another, they had discovered that most of the teachers (with the exception of Professor Snape) were less likely to punish them for being late if they all arrived together. Neville had been particularly glad about the new policy of waiting for each other at the end of classes so they could find their way to the next as a group, as he was, the others quickly learned, the most scatter-brained. But Professor McGonagall had made it clear in their most recent Transfiguration lesson that by the third week of term, she expected the First Years to know their way around the castle, and would not accept "I got lost" as an excuse for lateness.

"What floor are we going to?" Dean asked as Neville finally caught up to the rest of them.

"Sixth-floor," said Harry. "Apparently there's a classroom on it that's usually empty, so McGonagall's able to use it for the day."

There had been an announcement that morning at breakfast that Peeves, the school's resident poltergeist, had somehow made the usual Transfiguration classroom full of some sort of purple smoke that the teachers were having difficulty getting rid of – hence the change in classroom.

The five boys walked through the doorway that separated the corridor from the Grand Staircase, and all looked up apprehensively at the many sets of stairs, that every now and again would move to connect different floors.

"So, which one?" asked Ron nervously.

As if it had decided to answer Ron's question itself, one of the staircases detached itself from a landing on the sixth-floor, and floated down to where the boys were standing on the second. The boys all looked at each other, then shrugged, and stepped on.

The staircase began to float upwards again. To the boys' relief, it headed straight for the sixth-floor.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this," muttered Dean, and Harry silently agreed with him. Of all the bizarre things at Hogwarts, staircases that had minds of their own were one of the weirdest.

They were about halfway up when a shadow suddenly fell across them. Harry looked up to see another staircase floating past about two feet above their heads. Neville looked up too, and gave a yelp of shock, stumbling back against the stairs' banister. The sudden movement caused Neville's bag to slide off his shoulder.

"No!" cried Neville, but it was too late: the bag fell over the banister and began to plummet down. All the boys leant over the banister, watching it. Neville looked horrified.

Then something completely unexpected happened – the bag stopped in mid-air. It hung there for a few seconds as though it was being suspended by strings, before beginning to swiftly ascend.

The boys watched in amazement as the bag drew closer to them. But instead of making its way back to Neville, the bag continued to rise to the landing on the sixth-floor. Several moments later, the staircase reached its destination too.

Hurriedly, the boys got off the stairs and stepped onto the landing. It wasn't empty. In front of them stood a tall girl wearing a Slytherin tie, who had to at least be a Fifth Year or older, and was holding Neville's bag. Harry couldn't help but stare at her. He had never seen anyone who looked like her – at least, not in real life. Her hair was jet-black like his, but much longer, reaching down to her waist. Some of it was pulled back into a large knot on the top of her head, in a style that he was sure Aunt Petunia would have called 'trampy'. Her skin was incredibly pale, almost unhealthily so, and there were shadows under her blue-gray eyes. Her cheekbones nearly protruded out of her face in a way that was somewhere between conventionally beautiful and gaunt. Her school robe hung around her loosely, emphasising her thinness, and it all gave the combined effect of making her look slightly unwell, but not weak. In fact, Harry thought, the girl looked like a strange cross between a vampire, a punk rocker, and Snow White. Or, he reflected, what a lot of muggles would think a witch looked like.

But while Harry was staring at her, the girl's eyes were fixed on Neville, who seemed very uncomfortable under the intensity of her gaze. The other boys looked between them, unsure what to do in the increasingly awkward situation. Then the girl broke the silence.

"Here," she said to Neville, holding the bag out to him.

Neville hesitated, but took it. "Erm, thank you," he said.

As Ron, Dean and Seamus began to make their way through the sixth-floor corridor, the girl opened her mouth as if to say something else to Neville, but didn't seem to be able to find the words she was looking for. Another girl, about the same age as her but with much darker skin, walked out onto the landing.

"You coming, Lestrange?" she called to the first girl, without paying much attention to Neville and Harry, who still stood on the landing.

The first girl finally tore her gaze away from Neville. "Coming." They both stepped onto the stairs just before it began to descend again.

Harry was about to follow the other boys into the corridor when he noticed Neville had frozen. He was staring at the girls on the stairs, eyes wide and face white.

"Er, Neville?" said Harry quietly, disconcerted by Neville's evident horror. "You all right?"

Neville turned back to face Harry, staring at him for a second as if he didn't know who he was. Then recognition appeared to dawn on him, and he slowly nodded.

"Yeah," said Neville, an uncharacteristic bitterness to his voice. "Yeah, I'm fine. We'd better get going, Professor McGonagall will start class any second now." Then he quickly walked into the corridor, an odd expression on his face. Harry stared after him for a second, before following him. Why, he wondered, did that brief encounter with the older Slytherin girl shake Neville up so much?

* * *

Lena was only half-listening to Professor Quirrell 's stuttering lecture on counter-jinxes. For one thing, he wasn't saying anything she didn't know, and for another, she was too distracted by her brief encounter with Neville Longbottom to concentrate properly anyway.

She'd acted instinctively when she'd heard the cry of dismay in the Grand Staircase and seen the falling bag, flinging out a hand to stop its descent, and levitating it up to her. She'd intended to pass it off to its owner with a snarky comment, then step onto the staircase in an impressive exit. But then she had come face-to-face with Longbottom and she couldn't stop herself staring at him like an idiot. For a wild moment, she had wanted to say something to him. But what – her condolences? An apology? Somehow, she didn't think "By the way, I'm really sorry that my parents and uncle tortured your parents to insanity and deprived you of the opportunity to grow up with them. My mum can be a real bitch like that" would cut it. Once she'd regained her wits, she'd thought she could give the bag to the boy and leave without him knowing who she was, but then Skelton had come past and called out her name. It was only for a moment, but she'd seen Longbottom's expression – horrified and hurt. It appeared that no one had thought to mention that the daughter of the Lestranges was at Hogwarts.

And she just left him standing there. Lena almost snapped her quill thinking about it. When her grandmother had first told her of Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan's arrests, she'd just been so pleased about the fact that she was free of her parents that she'd barely given the Longbottoms a second thought. But now their son was walking around Hogwarts, a reminder to Lena of the heinous acts her parents had committed, and every time she saw him, she felt helpless. She knew what happened to his parents wasn't her fault. But ever since Lena had come to Hogwarts, she had lived in the shadow of her parents' last name. And despite her knowledge and occasional use of the Dark Arts, Lena was not like her parents. Yet she remained attached to the reputation.

Suddenly, Lena snapped out of her distracted state and tensed. She turned her full attention to Quirrell, who had been watching her while he talked, and he quickly looked away. Lena glanced around the class, but to her relief, no one had noticed the awkward exchange.

She leaned back in her chair, and watched Quirrell as he stammered about the counter-jinx for the Jelly-Legs Jinx. It wasn't the first time she had felt his gaze linger on her, and it was making her increasingly wary of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

Lena had never interacted with Quirrell during her first three years at Hogwarts when he'd being the Muggle Studies teacher, as she didn't take it as an elective. But since becoming the DADA teacher after his previous year's sabbatical, Lena had begun to notice that Quirrell was paying an unusual amount of attention to her – but very discretely. She often felt his gaze upon her whenever she ate in the Great Hall, which had become an incentive to avoid eating meals with the rest of the school more than she already did. In class, if she wasn't looking directly at him, his eyes would continuously flick over to her, but it was done so subtly that she hadn't heard any of the other Fifth Year Slytherins commenting upon it. Every now and again, Lena would look straight into his eyes, but Quirrell would look away, avoiding eye-contact.

Teachers often would keep a suspicious eye on Lena – especially if they'd only just begun to teach her –but this felt different to her. It was more like curiosity than caution, perhaps even fascination. She didn't think it was sexual in nature – she'd never noticed him looking at her body, only her face. In fact, she thought wryly, it would have almost been a relief to know the only reason he was watching her so much was out of some perverted desire, a teacher fantasizing about a schoolgirl; at least then she would know why. Instead, it was a mystery.

And this mystery was annoyingly distracting her from solving the other mystery she'd decided to investigate – what the three-headed dog was guarding. Lena had done some research into what powerful magical artefacts had unaccounted-for whereabouts, but nothing was jumping out at her. And with thoughts of Quirrell plaguing her mind, it was hard to properly focus on her self-assigned task.

Lena sighed to herself, and looked around the class. Everybody looked bored. She assumed that the combination of Quirrell's dire public-speaking skills and the lack of new information on how to attack people was very dull for her fellow Slytherins. Even a student like Marcus Flint, who probably needed to be paying very careful attention in class if he wanted to pass his OWL, was doodling what Lena presumed were crude drawings on his parchment, and showing them to his friend Merrick Murton.

It gave Lena an idea. She scribbled a note on a piece of spare parchment, and surreptitiously passed it to Skelton, who was sitting next to her. Skelton read it, and raised her eyebrows, before shrugging and raising her hand.

"B-b-but d-despite its similarities, i-if you w-were to use the c-counter-jinx against the D-d-dancing Feet S-spell, it would-" Quirrell broke off, finally noticing Skelton's hand. "Yes, M-m-miss S-Skelton?"

The rest of the class looked at Skelton with vague interest.

"Sir," began Skelton, "I basically understand the theory of what you're saying, but I think it would be helpful if you could put it into a practical context for us."

Quirrell looked nervous. "P-p-practical c-context?"

Skelton smiled at him pleasantly. "Yes sir. You know, like a demonstration."

At this, Lena raised her hand. "Professor, if you want a partner to demonstrate the casting of a counter-jinx, I'd be happy to assist you," she said earnestly. "I think I'd be quite capable."

By now, the entire class was avidly listening. Quirrell looked even more nervous than before.

He said, sounding slightly alarmed, "I'm n-not sure if that would b-be ap-p-ppropriate-"

"It's fine, sir," interrupted Lena, standing up and walking to the front of the class. "The jinx will be cast, and then removed in order to demonstrate a counter-jinx in a... what was it, Skelton?"

"A practical context, Lestrange," smirked Skelton.

"Right, a practical context. It'll be perfectly safe, Professor Quirrell." She paused for a moment. "I mean, you're confident in your abilities as a Defence Against the Dark Art teacher, aren't you, sir?"

It was only for a brief moment, but Lena saw a flicker of irritation cross Quirrell's face.

'Good,' she thought to herself. 'There _is_ more to him than a turban and a stammer.'

"I am p-perfectly c-capable of using c-counter-jinxes, M-miss Lestrange, but-" started Quirrell, but Lena cut him off.

"Excellent," she said briskly. "Then let's provide the class with a demonstration."

Without waiting for a reply, she sent a non-verbal Jelly-Legs jinx at Quirrell. The speed and stealth of the jinx didn't give him a chance to deflect it, and so Quirrell tottered around for a moment, before crumpling to the floor. There were sharp intakes of breath among some of the members of the class, and sniggers from others.

It was not irritation that Lena saw cross the DADA professor's face this time, but anger. Still, it was gone before anyone else could notice, and Quirrell immediately reassumed his mild-mannered and nervous mask. He pointed his wand at his legs, and hastily said the incantation for the counter-jinx.

"M-miss L-lestrange," he stuttered, standing up, "what on Earth d-do you m-mean b-b-by attacking m-me in s-such a m-m-manner?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," said Lena, in a completely unapologetic manner. "Skelton said she wanted a _practical_ context, and it wouldn't have been very _practical_ for me to give you a warning that I was about to jinx you. I was trying to put the jinx into a proper _context_."

Several of the Slytherin girls looked torn between amusement and disapproval, while Flint and Murton grinned nastily at Quirrell, evidently pleased at the misfortune of their teacher. Lena suspected that they, and most of her other classmates, were probably hoping to see her use something worse than the Jelly-Legs Jinx on the seemingly meek teacher.

Quirrell imperceptibly narrowed his eyes at Lena, but simply said, "I s-see. Well, in f-future, M-miss Lestrange, I would r-rather you d-didn't do th-that."

"So sorry, Professor Quirrell," said Lena cheerfully, going back to her seat at the back of the class. "It won't happen again."

"G-g-good," said Quirrell. "N-now, m-moving on – yes, Mr Kahn?"

"But sir," said Fakhir Kahn, the male Prefect in their class, "wouldn't it be more instructive for us to see these jinxes and counter-jinxes demonstrated in an example of a proper duel? And," he gave Lena a side-long glance, "Lestrange is a very talented duellist, so it would be a wasted opportunity to not use her for practical demonstrations."

Kahn's words didn't surprise Lena. Although she wasn't really on friendly terms with any of her classmates other than Skelton – and in certain cases, such as Tara Selwyn, shared an open and mutual loathing with them –her exceptional magical knowledge and ability were recognised by them. And none of them were likely to pass up the chance to see Lena use those skills against someone, especially a teacher who no one particularly liked.

"Yeah," chimed in Terence Higgs, who was sitting next to Kahn, "isn't there supposed to be a practical component on our OWLs?"

"W-w-well," stammered Quirrell, looking alarmed, "yes, b-but-"

"So surely it would be advisable for us to watch an example of a duel in a, uh, relatively controlled environment?" asked Skelton. "You know, before we start practising with each other – to see how it should be done?"

"For safety purposes," added Higgs.

"Exactly, for our own safety," nodded Skelton.

Lena kept her face impassive, but inwardly smirked as she eyed the rest of the class, who were eagerly watching Quirrell.

No, not eagerly, she realised. Predatorily. It was like on the train at the beginning of term, when the group of Slytherins told her Harry Potter was on the Hogwarts Express – they were waiting for blood.

Quirrell also seemed to have picked up on the change of atmosphere in the classroom, and was now looking more anxious than ever. He glanced nervously at a clock that hung above the blackboard. There were still five minutes until the end of class, but Quirrell apparently had had enough.

"I th-think we will end c-class a l-little early t-t-today," he said.

Five minutes ago, this would have delighted the Fifth Year Slytherins, but now they all grumbled in disappointment.

"Oh, come on, Professor," called out Higgs, "there's enough time for a quick duel between you and Lestrange."

Lena heard Aloysius Burke, who was sitting in front of her, mutter under his breath to Thaddeus Accrington, "I think fifteen seconds would probably be enough time for Lestrange to finish a duel with Quirrell."

Accrington snorted in agreement.

But Quirrell evidently had no desire to put himself in such a situation. "N-no, I think you've all l-listened so well t-today that you d-d-deserve an early lunch b-break. Off you all g-go." He waved his hand towards the door.

The class continued to grumble but packed up and made their exits. As she and Skelton walked out, Lena turned back to Quirrell, who was watching her, and gave him her best winning smile – which generally had the effect of unsettling people even more. Quirrell quickly turned away, and busied himself with some papers on his desk.

As the rest of the class made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, Skelton murmured to Lena, "Great Hall or kitchens?"

"Kitchens," replied Lena quietly. "I told Rolf after breakfast that we'd have lunch with him."

Although students weren't banned from occasionally sitting at the other House tables for meals, it was frowned upon, and in their case, Lena and Skelton were especially not welcome at the Hufflepuff table, and the same went for Rolf sitting at the Slytherin table. Thus, the three often went to the kitchens to get food and would sit together somewhere in the grounds for lunch.

Lena had discovered the location of the kitchens about halfway through her First Year. The house elves had initially been wary of her – the shadow of her parents' last name extended further than just Wizarding society, it had seemed. But Lena had quickly discovered something – people rarely asked house elves questions about themselves. And it turned out that house elves, like most humans, enjoyed talking about themselves. All Lena had to do was ask an elf if they had any siblings, and she would be treated to a detailed and extensive talk about their family tree, spanning back several generations. If she asked what was their favourite desert dish to prepare, she might be drawn into a half-an-hour discussion about the intricacies of making a strawberry mousse compared to a chocolate one. And just asking an elf what was their favourite colour was usually enough to induce a beaming face. Because Lena understood that even though most house elves would be offended by the mere idea of not spending their lives in servitude, they were still individuals who had their own likes and dislikes, families and friends, and a desire to be recognised for their achievements in their own right, rather than simply being grouped together. And once Lena had realised this, the elves – so unused to someone taking an interest in _them_ , rather than just what they _did_ –had been more than happy to supply her directly with food whenever she wanted it.

The first time she'd brought Rolf to the kitchens with her, the delighted response of the house elves at seeing her had both shocked and amused him – as had her interactions with them.

"It's so weird," he had said as they left the kitchens. "You're like a whole other person around them. I mean, you're actually nice to them – way nicer than I've ever seen you be to another human. And they love you! Like, genuinely adore you! They're not even a little scared of you. I mean, that was like... basically the opposite of every interaction you have with everyone else. It's just," he paused, shaking his head, "you know, bizarre."

Lena had just shrugged, and said in a bored manner, "Flattery gets you better results with a house elf than intimidation. Being nice to them, it's just a means to an end."

But although Rolf had said nothing, she had seen out of the corner of her eye his disbelieving expression. And the truth was that his scepticism was warranted.

Because when she and Skelton finally reached the kitchens, entering through the portrait that hid its entrance, and were greeted warmly by a large number of house elves, Lena smiled back at them – and it wasn't unsettling at all.

It was nice. It was kind. It was real.

* * *

At dinner that night, Harry was scanning the Slytherin table, looking for the girl they'd seen that morning in the Grand Staircase. Lestrange, the other girl had called her.

He'd asked Ron during Transfiguration if knew the name. Ron had said it sounded familiar, but wasn't sure why, so for the rest of the day Harry had been left with a burning curiosity.

He looked over to where Neville was sitting with Hermione Granger, near the end of the table closest for the entrance. Harry had been watching Neville closely since Transfiguration, and had noticed whenever the round-faced boy thought no one was watching him, that odd expression he'd seen at the Grand Staircase returned.

Now, as they ate dinner, Harry realised that Neville, while pretending to be listening to Hermione prattle on about whatever they'd learned in class that day, was doing the same thing Harry had just been doing – searching the Slytherin table for the Lestrange girl. As Harry watched, he saw Neville freeze like he'd done that morning, and immediately followed his gaze across the hall.

And there she was, sitting next to the girl she'd been with on the stairs, their backs facing the Gryffindor table. There was nobody else sitting directly either side of them or opposite them, which Harry found a little odd, as he couldn't see any such other obvious gaps at the table.

He looked back at Neville, who now appeared to be focussed on whatever Hermione was saying. But Harry could see there was a tenseness in the way he sat, and felt bewildered. What was it about this Lestrange girl that made Neville so on edge?

Harry glanced at Ron, who was sitting next to him and devouring a baked potato with relish, and then looked around at the other Gryffindors sitting around him. Fred and George Weasley were sitting across from him, and their friend Lee Jordan was next to him. Harry wondered if the Weasley twins, who knew so much about the castle itself, knew as much about the inhabitants of it. On the other hand, he thought as his eyes turned to Percy Weasley who as sitting a couple of seats away from them , their older brother was possibly in the same year as the girl, in which case he was likely to know more about her.

"Hey, Percy?" he called over to the Prefect.

Percy quickly swallowed his mouthful of lamb, and turned to Harry. "Yes, Harry?" he said, smiling genially.

"I was just wondering if you knew who that girl was," said Harry, pointing at where the girl was sitting.

Percy turned around, perusing the hall. "Which girl?"

Harry hesitated. "Erm, the Slytherin one. The pale one, with long black hair."

Percy, realising who Harry was talking about, whipped his head back around to frown at Harry. But it wasn't Percy's usual disapproving frown, Harry noticed. Instead, it was a more worried one.

The other students sitting near Harry, including the Weasley twins and Lee, suddenly stopped talking, and all looked at Harry too, before exchanging significant looks with each other. Harry instantly felt the change in mood. He looked at Ron, but he looked just as clueless at this response as Harry felt.

Percy cleared his throat, and asked cautiously, "Any reason you're interested, Harry?"

"Er, no," said Harry, confused. "I mean, yes. Just that I saw her today, and... noticed her. Lestrange, I think her friend called her?"

Percy slowly nodded. "Yes. Lena Lestrange." He paused, as if carefully choosing his words. "She's in Fifth Year, like me." He looked at his youngest brother. "Did you tell him anything about the Lestranges, Ron?"

Ron stared at Percy, clearly baffled. "Tell him what? I mean, I recognise the name, but I don't know from where."

Percy rolled his eyes, and the patronising tone that Harry had come to associate with the Prefect returned to his voice. "Honestly, Ron, does information just going in one ear and out the other for you?"

Ron scowled at his brother. "What?" he said indignantly. "You can't expect me to remember every single name I've ever heard-"

It was George, not Percy, who spoke. "Actually, Lestrange is a name you probably should have remembered, Ron. Dad's mentioned them a few times."

Before Ron could snap back a reply, Harry quickly said, "Neville seemed to recognise it. And he started acting kind of weird after he heard it."

Percy didn't seem surprised by this. "Well, most children from Wizarding families-" he gave Ron a pointed look – "know the name of You-Know-Who's biggest supporters."

Harry suddenly felt sick. "His biggest supporters?"

Percy nodded. "Lestrange's parents. Currently imprisoned for – well," he furrowed his brow, "I can't quite remember the specific charges against them-"

"Torture, murder," interrupted Fred, "and just generally being terrible people, I imagine."

"And is she," asked Harry in a low voice, "you know, like her parents?"

The other Gryffindors listening in on the conversation all looked around at each other again, as Percy immediately replied, "Oh yes. She's certainly a dangerous individual. You'd do well to stay out of her way, Harry."

"If she's so dangerous, why does Dumbledore let her come to Hogwarts?" inquired Ron.

"Because it's bloody difficult to catch her doing anything wrong," said Fred. There was almost a begrudging admiration in his voice.

Harry frowned. "Then how do you know she is doing anything wrong?"

It was Lee Jordan who answered this time. "For one thing, there's been way too many incidents involving people who've crossed her for them to be coincidences. And there was that time at the beginning of your First Year too, right, Percy?"

"You mean that Sixth Year Slytherin girl?" asked Percy.

Harry felt like he was going to burst from curiosity. "What happened?"

Percy hesitated. "Well, it's really only a rumour..." he said, in a tone that suggested it was not entirely Prefect-like to engage in the rumour-mill of Hogwarts.

"It's not a rumour that nobody's seen the girl since it happened," pointed out a Fifth Year whose name Harry didn't know.

"But what happened?" persisted Ron, evidently as curious as Harry. "What did Lestrange do?"

"That's the thing," responded Percy. "Nobody can prove that Lestrange did anything, otherwise she probably would have been expelled in our First Year." He paused, but obviously realised that Harry and Ron weren't going to drop their line of questioning, and continued. "In the third week of my First Year, some students discovered this Slytherin girl in Sixth Year lying in one of the corridors in the dungeons. When they went over to her, they saw that.. well, they say it looked like she'd been poisoned with something, but nobody knew what it was."

"I heard that all her veins had turned black," put in Lee. "And so had the inside of her mouth, and the whites and irises of her eyes."

"Yes," agreed the Fifth Year who had spoken before. "And she couldn't speak anymore. Didn't know who she was, or who anyone else was."

"Anyway," said Percy with authority, clearly trying to regain control of the story, "nobody at Hogwarts knew what had been used to make the girl like this, or if it was even a poison, or a very Dark curse. Not Madam Pomfrey, not Snape – not even Dumbledore. So she was sent away, presumably to St. Mungos-"

"What's that?" interrupted Harry.

"The Wizarding Hospital. But it doesn't look like even they were able to find a cure for it, because she never returned to Hogwarts, and nobody's seen her since."

"And what, people think Lestrange was the one who poisoned or cursed her?" asked Harry.

"Apparently," said Lee, "she had argued with the girl the previous week. Some people say the Sixth Year had questioned whether Lestrange would be able to live up to her parents' reputation."

"And she decided to poison a girl to prove that she was?" said Ron, sounding sickened.

"Probably," answered Fred. "But like I said before, she knows how to avoid getting caught."

"The investigation into what had happened," explained Percy, "could only come up with a possible conclusion that the Sixth Year had consumed an experimental variation of Liquid Luck – hence it was self-inflicted."

"So that's the official story?" demanded Harry, incredulous. "That she was messing about with potions and accidently poisoned herself?"

"Yeah, but nobody believes that," said George. "I don't think even the teachers do."

"But everybody's known since then," said the unknown Fifth Year, "that you don't mess around with Lena Lestrange."

Harry looked back over to where Lestrange was sitting at the Slytherin table, a sick feeling in his stomach. Now he didn't blame Neville for acting so strangely, like she was some kind of dangerous monster.

Because if the rumours were true, she was.


	5. Help From Unlikely Places

_Thursday 31 October, 1991:_

"Just who the _fuck_ ," growled Skelton, covering her plate of food with her hands, "thought it would be a good idea to have _two thousand live bats_ flying around the Great Hall? I mean, what if they start shitting on us? Or the food?"

"I doubt they're real," said Lena, looking around the Hall with mild interest as bats flew everywhere. The Headmaster's idea, she was sure, of livening up the Halloween Feast. "More likely they're magical creations that will only exist for a limited time – say, four hours." She smirked at Skelton. "So I don't think you have to worry about bucket loads of shit raining down on us. Dumbledore's not _that_ eccentric."

"Still," grumbled Skelton, wincing as a group of bats zoomed past directly in front of her, "it's a stupid idea."

Lena said nothing, electing instead to have a mouthful of salad. It was exactly as she liked it – all the right ingredients from the type of lettuce she enjoyed most to her favourite salad dressing. Courtesy of the house elves.

Absentmindedly, she looked across to the Gryffindor table. Ever since the incident in the Grand Staircase, from time to time she had felt someone staring at her from over there. She had expected Longbottom's gaze, but, although she had caught him looking her way a couple of times, more often than not it was actually the Potter boy whose eyes were on her.

She had barely noticed him that time in the Grand Staircase, but clearly he had noticed her. And, she assumed from his distinctly suspicious gaze, he'd asked some of the older students about her, and she couldn't imagine they'd had anything nice to say. In any case, most of the time she now sat facing the Gryffindor table, as she disliked the feeling of being watched from behind.

Of course, thoughts of being watched instantly brought Quirrell to mind. Since that lesson in which she'd jinxed him, Quirrell's fascination with Lena appeared to only have intensified. For the past month they'd mainly been doing practical work in Defence Against the Dark Arts, pairing up and casting jinxes and counter-jinxes on each other. Quirrell closely watched her and Skelton's efforts, but Lena was reluctant to show off again in front of him, keeping one of Aunt Valeriya's pearls of wisdom in mind:

 _Don't ever reveal the true extent of your abilities, unless there's no other choice. Especially to someone you don't trust – which really should be everyone. It's fine to give an initial display of power, especially if someone's already watching you, but only enough to make them think twice about crossing you. You want to keep them guessing – people fear the unknown._

It was something Lena had kept in mind since coming to Hogwarts, particularly when dealing with teachers. For instance, she'd only revealed that she could do non-verbal magic about halfway through Fourth Year, rather than the end of Second Year, when she'd first become reasonably proficient. Defence Against the Dark Arts was an annoyingly difficult subject to know where to draw the line – after all, her childhood had brought her into contact with the Dark Arts more often and closely than most teachers qualified in the subject ever would be.

Her mind now on Quirrell, Lena scanned the teachers' table, and observed that the DADA professor was not among his colleagues. Lena frowned. All the other teachers, with the exception of the Divination professor, Trelawney, were there. So where was he?

She got her answer about ten minutes later, when Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Conversations died down as the students watched him make his way to the teachers' table. He reached Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped, "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your houses back to their dormitories immediately!"

"Are you kidding me?!" hissed Skelton. "Our dormitories are _in_ the fucking dungeons!"

Clearly, Skelton wasn't the only Slytherin to think of this, as Lena heard other similar exclamations echoed around their table. As the other houses began to exit the Hall, Lena saw Snape quickly speak to the Seventh Year Slytherin prefects, before joining the other teachers, who she suspected were heading to the dungeons.

The male Seventh Year Prefect, Richmond, raised his voice above the mutters of the confused House. "Professor Snape has asked us to remain in the Great Hall until the troll has been dealt with."

The Slytherin students began to settle back into their seats again, evidently relieved. Lena, however, frowned, and twirled her hair around her fingers. Skelton recognised the expression.

"What's up?" she asked Lena quietly.

"I'm wondering why Quirrell was in the dungeons during the Halloween Feast," replied Lena, her voice just as soft. "And also," she indicated to the teachers' table with her head, "where he sneaked off to."

Skelton looked at where Quirrell had been lying unconscious on the floor. He was gone. "When-"

"While Snape was talking to the Prefects, and the teachers were leaving," answered Lena before Skelton could finish asking her question. "He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and went out the back entrance of the Hall." She gestured towards a door in the corner of the Hall nearest to the teachers' table.

"What?" said Skelton, alarmed. "Why?"

But Lena had realised something. "Oh, that's clever," she murmured to herself. She glanced at Skelton. "The troll. It was a diversion."

Skelton looked dumbfounded. "A diversion for what?"

But Lena was standing up. "Tell you later," she told Skelton distractedly, and hurriedly walked to the Hall's main doors.

"Oi, Lestrange!" called out Richmond. "Where are you going?"

Lena didn't bother responding. She knew the prefects wouldn't really try to stop her. Ignoring Richmond's further questions, she exited the Great Hall, and made her way to a staircase. She needed to get to the third-floor.

* * *

How, wondered Severus Snape as he urgently climbed the stairs leading to the Charms corridor on the third-floor, could Dumbledore have guessed that there was something up with Quirrell, right from the beginning of the school year?

Snape had been watching Quirrell for the past two months, but hadn't been able to sense anything wrong with him – well, apart from being a complete nervous wreck, thought Snape wryly. He had begun to suspect that Dumbledore was being overly paranoid about the Philosopher's Stone. After all, hadn't the Headmaster asked Quirrell to help protect the stone anyway? (Of course, realised Snape, his mistrust would have been a little too obvious to everyone if Dumbledore hadn't included Quirrell in the Stone's protection.) But then Quirrell had come running into the Great Hall that evening, shouting about a troll in the dungeons, and Snape had immediately sensed something was off about the DADA teacher's story. He'd left the Great Hall with the other teachers, so as not to alert Quirrell to his suspicions, but at the first opportunity had sneaked away to check the third-floor corridor.

He reached the Charms corridor and hurried towards the door. He was relieved to find it was still locked. However, he quickly realised that Quirrell might had already gone through and locked it behind him. He would actually need to go into the third-floor corridor to check it was undisturbed.

 _"Alohomora_ ," he muttered, pointing his wand at the door, and he heard the lock click.

But as he grabbed the doorknob, he faltered. Hagrid's monster was behind the door, and he doubted the creature would recognise that he wasn't a potential thief.

Snape steeled himself. He didn't have time for this hesitation, Quirrell could already be down the trapdoor. Holding his wand out in front of him, he opened the door.

The three-headed dog was only four or five feet away, and as soon as it saw the door open, it lunged.

" _Protego!"_ said Snape hastily, throwing up a shield in front of him. The creature slammed into the invisible barrier and was flung back.

Taking advantage of the brief respite from the monster, Snape quickly moved forward. The creature's current position was blocking his view of the trapdoor, so he ventured further into the corridor. When he saw the trapdoor was still closed, he let out a small sigh of relief. It didn't look like Quirrell had gone through.

Snape began to move back, his wand pointed at the three-headed dog, which was getting back to its feet and growling at him. Keeping one eye on the head nearest to him, he searched for the doorway in his peripheral vision.

What happened next was a blur to Snape. One of the heads of the creature that he wasn't focused on came out of nowhere, and he reacted instinctively, shouting " _Stupefy!"_ But apparently this didn't have any effect on the beast except to make it even more aggressive, because suddenly Snape felt a sharp, agonizing pain in his left leg, around the knee. Just as he realised that the pain was originating from the fact the creature had one of its jaws clamped around his leg, there was a loud thwack as something connected with the nose of the head. The pressure around Snape's leg disappeared – although the pain remained – and he felt himself being hurriedly dragged out of the corridor. All three heads lunged towards him again, but the door was slammed shut in front of him in the nick of time. Whoever had dragged him out set Snape down on the floor. He breathed in and out deeply, and clutched his injured leg. The mere fact that it hadn't been bitten off began to calm him down. Then he heard the voice of his saviour, and the feeling of calmness immediately evaporated.

"Are you a lunatic, or just a moron?"

Snape's eyes snapped towards the person standing next to him, staring down at him with what he found to be an infuriatingly judgemental expression.

"Lestrange," he snarled, "what the hell are you doing here?"

"Me? Oh, I was just out for a stroll around the castle," said Lestrange sarcastically. "But I got a bit distracted when I saw that my Head of House had decided his new ambition in life was to become a chew toy." She held something out to him. "By the way, you dropped your wand."

Snape snatched his wand out of her hand, and glowered at her. "Don't test my patience," he hissed at her. "You're supposed to be in the Great Hall with the rest of your housemates."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Then it's probably a good thing I have a habit of turning up where I'm not supposed to be," she said drily. "Or you might have had one less leg. Or just have been dog food." She shook her head at him, in an almost patronising fashion. "Did you seriously try to _Stun_ a three-headed dog? Honestly, what were you thinking?"

"It was a reasonable course of action," snapped Snape, before mentally berating himself for acting as though he had to explain himself to Lestrange.

Lestrange crouched down beside Snape. She look unimpressed with his response. "Of course it wasn't reasonable. Any sort of offensive magic doesn't work on that sort of creature," she told him. She cocked her head, as if surprised. "Haven't you ever met a three-headed dog before?"

"Of course I haven't!" Snape paused as the implication of what Lestrange had just said sunk in. "Have you?"

"I had an eventful childhood," she replied flatly. "Now, before you ask me anymore questions – did Quirrell get past?"

Snape stared at the girl in shock. How could she possibly know? "What are you talking about?" he said in a low voice, trying to hide his panic.

Lestrange hesitated, as if trying to decide what to tell him. "I saw him cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, then sneak out of the Great Hall," she said finally.

But Snape wasn't satisfied with her answer. "But how did-"

"Look, it doesn't matter," said Lestrange impatiently. "The important thing is that Dumbledore's alerted if somebody got through the trapdoor."

Snape met her gaze for a moment. It was somehow defiant and emotionless at the same time.

"The trapdoor was undisturbed," he said shortly.

Lestrange nodded, and some of the tension in her body seemed to disappear. "Right. Then the next most important thing is to heal that leg." She indicated towards the bloody wound. Snape had almost forgotten about it in his shock at seeing Lestrange.

"I can deal with it," he said.

Lestrange looked doubtful. "I think you should probably see Madam Pom-"

"It's fine," snapped Snape. He pointed his wand at the injury. " _Vulnera Sanentur,_ " he muttered. But the healing spell made very little difference. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lestrange had an 'I-told-you-so' expression on her face, and he felt a strong urge to hex her. Instead, he pushed himself up into a standing position. "Go back to the Great Hall, and don't breathe a word of this to anyone. Then I want to see you in my office at 7 o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. Do you understand?"

For a second, Lestrange looked like she wanted to argue, but then her expression went blank. "Yes, Professor," she said smoothly. She turned around and briskly walked down the Charms corridor.

Snape's lip curled in distaste as he stared after her. The last thing he needed was Lestrange to involve herself in the matter of the Philosopher's Stone. And what was her motive for doing so? He grimaced. Whatever it was, he thought darkly, it couldn't be good.

* * *

Lena knocked on the door to Snape's office at precisely 7 o'clock the next morning.

"Enter," she heard the Potions Master call out. She opened the door and stepped through.

The last time Lena had been in Snape's office was four years ago, when he had questioned her over Leonora Travers. The Sixth Year girl had been suffering from an... affliction, Lena was told, and suspicion had been cast over her. But despite Snape's best efforts, there had been no substantial evidence to connect Lena with the incident, and she had left his office free of any blame. He'd wary of her ever since.

The office was dimly lit, but it was obviously well-organised. The books and stacks of paper on his desk were neatly arranged, and the shelves that contained potions ingredients were clearly labelled. An empty cauldron sat in the corner of the office, a bare table next to it. Evidently, Lena thought with mild amusement, the lack of effort Snape put into his own appearance was balanced by the meticulous order he kept his possessions in.

Snape was sitting at his desk, writing on a piece of parchment. Lena shut the door behind her, and walked over so she was standing across from him. There was a chair, and Lena waited to see if Snape would ask her to take a seat in it.

He didn't.

"So," he said, finally putting his quill away and looking up at Lena. She looked back at him, as though politely interested.

There was a long pause.

Finally, Snape spoke again. "The events of last night." He waited, apparently expecting Lena to say something.

She didn't.

Snape exhaled through his nose. "You saw Professor Quirrell cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself?" he prompted.

Lena nodded. "Yes, sir."

He looked at her expectantly again, but she added nothing else. He narrowed his eyes at her, his irritation obviously growing. "And then what? You followed him to the third-floor corridor?"

Inwardly, Lena smirked. But to Snape, she simply raised an eyebrow. "Followed, sir? How could I if he had cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself? I wouldn't be able to see him."

Snape glared at her. "Then how do you know he left the Great Hall?"

This time, Lena couldn't hold back a snort of derision. "You mean apart from the fact it would have been extremely pointless to Disillusion yourself, and then stay in the room where you were supposed to be? Well, Professor, I watched the door open and close without anyone visibly going through, and it was a bit of a giveaway."

The Potions Master's fingers twitched, as if they were itching to throttle her. "Then tell me, Lestrange," he hissed, "how did you end up on the third-floor?"

Lena met his hostile gaze unflinchingly. "Because once I concluded that the troll was I diversion, I assumed that the distraction was to provide Quirrell an opportunity to enter the third-floor corridor and go through the trapdoor."

"And how," said Snape, his voice barely more than a whisper, "did you know there was a trapdoor there?"

"Because I went into the third-floor corridor the first morning back of the school year."

There was a momentary silence.

"So you entered the forbidden corridor within less than twenty-four hours of the Headmaster expressly telling you not to," drawled Snape. "Was there some sort of rule-breaking record you were going for, Lestrange?"

Lena smiled at him pleasantly. "Technically, sir, Professor Dumbledore said it was only out-of-bounds if you didn't 'wish to die a very painful death'. So unless you can actually prove that's _not_ how I want to die, I didn't break any rules."

Snape stood up suddenly, and leaned forward on his desk. As he stared at Lena, the dislike was plain on his face. "Oh, you're very clever, Lestrange," he whispered venomously. "Enlighten me then – how did you avoid a very painful death?"

Lena dropped the pleasant smile, and instead met Snape's gaze coldly. "I dealt with the creature in the appropriate manner," she said quietly. "But you evidently don't know what that is – and Quirrell mustn't know either, or he would have been down that trapdoor. So it's a good thing dealing with three-headed dogs isn't common knowledge, isn't it? By the way, _Professor_ , how's the leg?"

Snape slammed his fist down on the desk. He snarled at her, "I don't care how smart you think you are, Lestrange, I am your teacher, and I will not tolerate your insolence!" He breathed heavily, staring at her with loathing. "I told Dumbledore that he never should have let you come to Hogwarts, I knew the moment I saw you that you would bring nothing but trouble-"

"Which moment you saw me?" interrupted Lena, her voice still soft. "On my first day at Hogwarts, or when you used to come around for the Death Eater meetings at my house?"

Snape froze. His knuckles clutched the desk, turning white.

"Remember those?" continued Lena, whispering. "I do. You, my parents, Rabastan, Lucius, Antonin, Avery, Mulciber – you and him were school friends, weren't you? Macnair, Rookwood – oh, the list goes on." She gave Snape a twisted smile. "So is that when you first knew I would bring nothing but trouble?" When he seemed unable to formulate a reply, she pressed on. "But what I really want to know, _Severus_ , is what does Dumbledore have on you?"

At this, Snape appeared to regain his wits. "What are you talking about?" he hissed. But although the venom in his voice was still present, there was a look of apprehension in his eyes.

Lena tilted her head, the twisted smile still on her face. "Dumbledore wouldn't hire a former Death Eater as a teacher if didn't trust them – or knew he could be sure of their co-operation. So what does he know about you, Snape? What's big enough that he would ignore the fact that you willingly signed up to be a member of a blood-purist gang that killed muggles for fun? How does he have such a hold over you? Tell me that, because I've been trying to figure it out for the last four years, and it has to be something _really_ good."

"Why don't you tell me," said Snape quietly, "what you and the Dark Lord were doing all those hours alone up in your room?"

It was Lena's turn to freeze. However, she recovered quicker than Snape had. "That's really none of your concern," she said, a warning in her tone.

But Snape, sensing he had struck a nerve, didn't let it go. "Of all his devoted and loyal followers, why pay special attention to you? Was it, perhaps," he sneered, "that he sensed a kindred spirit in you?"

Lena's heart was pounding. Memories began to flash through her mind, and she forcefully shoved them back down. "Shut up," she whispered, clenching her fists.

But Snape noticed her discomfort, and seemed to relish it. "Or maybe," he said softly, "you were just a pet." He stared at Lena, his eyes glittering with malice. "Were you his little monster, Lestrange?"

Lena dug her nails so hard into the palms of her hands she could feel them breaking through the skin. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. "Don't talk-" she started to say, before stopping. She exhaled, before starting again. "I'm not going to try to explain it to you, Snape," she said quietly. "It's beyond your understanding."

This, more than anything, appeared to infuriate Snape, and his face contorted in rage. When he spoke again his voice trembled in fury. "Is that so? Well, I think that's for me to decide."

A split second before it happened, Lena knew what Snape was about to do and prepared herself to be tested more than she had been in years.

In a swift movement, Snape withdrew his wand from his robes. " _Legilimens,_ " he roared, pointing it at her.

It was like a sledgehammer had hit Lena's Occlumency barrier. The impact caused a mental ringing in her ears, and she was almost thrown off balance by the force of Snape's attack. But she stood her ground. Blue-grey eyes met black, and Lena shoved back against the intrusion.

His first attempt unsuccessful, Snape gritted his teeth, and a moment later Lena felt another onslaught. She focussed hard on the protective wall encasing her mind, strengthening it.

Their minds struggled against each for another few seconds, until Lena drew back for a second. The momentary respite surprised Snape enough that he was not prepared when Lena slammed back against his mind.

The mental shove was hard enough that Snape was physically thrown back. He crashed into his chair, which also fell back, and he hit the ground hard.

Lena, meanwhile, stumbled back a few steps but just managed to keep her footing. She whipped her wand out from her robe pocket and pointed it at Snape, who was getting back to his feet. His own wand had flown across the room when he'd been thrown back, and he warily eyed hers. However, when he took a look at her face, it was clear that her expression was more worrying to him.

Over the years, Lena had become extremely good at hiding her feelings. Usually, all she allowed was a hint of emotion to grace her face – enough not to be suspicious, but not enough to give too much away. But now, the fury in her eyes and her snarled lips was unmistakeable. In fact, if Lena had been able to see her own expression at that moment, she might have thought she was deranged.

"Did you really think," she began, her voice a chilling hiss, "that you could break into my mind, when I knew how to keep out _Lord Voldemort_ before I was even six years old?"

Snape said nothing. He barely even flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. He just watched her as though she was a snake who might strike at any moment.

"If you ever," continued Lena, " _ever_ , try that again, I will _destroy_ you." She paused, and when she spoke again, her tone was less angry, but still serious. "You don't want me as an enemy, Snape, so I suggest you stop treating me as one." She lowered her wand, and strode to the door.

But just she put her hand on the handle, Snape finally spoke. "It really is uncanny," he said softly, "how much you are starting to resemble your mother."

For a moment, there was only silence.

Lena felt like she was in slow motion. As she clutched the door handle, she felt the rage that had just begun to evaporate come flooding back into her, with even more intensity than before. Anger, pain, and _hatred_ whirled around inside her. And then it burst out.

Glass shattered. The cauldron soared across the room and crashed into a wall with such force that it broke into pieces on impact. Snape threw himself to the ground to avoid all the objects in the room that had taken flight and were smashing into each other and the walls. The shelves of ingredients crashed to floor. Fragments of wood, paper, stone and glass circled around the room like a tornado of debris. Then it all dropped to the ground, and there was silence again.

Lena hadn't looked around once while it all happened, and now she only looked back over her shoulder for a split second at the smashed up office, and the cowering Potions Master in the centre of it. Then she snapped her head back to the front. She flung open the door and left without another word.

* * *

 _Friday 25 January, 1980:_

 _"You didn't cry."_

 _Lena looked at the man who her parents called the Dark Lord, but didn't say anything. He was sitting on the side of her bed, watching her intently as she leaned against the headboard._

 _He spoke again. "She hurt you, but you didn't cry."_

 _This time, Lena replied. "I don't cry," she said quietly._

 _He tilted his head. "Why not?"_

 _"I just don't," shrugged Lena. She paused, before adding, "I used to, I think. But now I don't."_

 _The Dark Lord continued to watch her. He seemed intrigued. It made Lena suspicious. He had never shown any interest in her before that evening, or none that she could remember, at any rate._

 _"But you got angry."_

 _"Yes." Lena twirled a lock of hair around her finger, and stared down at her lap. "I hate her," she muttered._

 _"Yes," murmured the Dark Lord, and Lena felt his curious gaze still upon her. "I thought you did. The look on your face..." He stopped._

 _Lena looked back up at him. He was scrutinising her, as if trying to make a decision._

 _"That was an impressive display of accidental magic, down there in the kitchen," he finally said. "Only, I suppose it wasn't really accidental, was it?"_

 _"I didn't know what was going to happen."_

 _"But you wanted to hurt her back, didn't you?"_

 _Lena frowned. "I guess. But..." she hesitated, playing with her hair again. "It was more that I just... got angry."_

 _"And there was so much anger inside of you that you had to let some of it out," he said quietly._

 _Surprised, Lena sat up straight. "How'd you know that?"_

 _The Dark Lord just gave her a small smile. "Merely a guess. How old are you, Lena?"_

 _"Four," she replied. "Why?"_

 _He seemed to have made his mind up about something. "I believe it would be a waste of time to wait until you are eleven to start your magical training, particularly when it's apparent that you have so much potential." He leaned forward, closer to the confused Lena. "I would like to teach you."_

 _Her eyes lit up, but her voice was cautious. "To use magic?" The Dark Lord nodded. "When?"_

 _"Starting next week," he answered. "I think perhaps a two hour lesson once a week would be a good starting point. I'm sure your parents would have no objections." From the tone of his voice, Lena thought the Dark Lord was pretty sure that her parents wouldn't dare object to anything he wanted._

 _"And you'd be my teacher?" she asked. When he nodded again, Lena couldn't help the small smile that came to her face. "Okay."_

 _He smiled back and stood up. "I will go inform your parents of the arrangement now. And I will see you next week, on Friday afternoon, for your first lesson."_

 _The Dark Lord had just reached her bedroom door when Lena called out, "Wait!"_

 _He turned around. "Yes?"_

 _Lena took a deep breath. "Could you teach me to hurt her back? Like, properly hurt her?"_

 _For a second, the Dark Lord stared at her. Then an amused smile crossed his face. "I could teach you to kill her, if you like."_

 _Lena's eyes widened. "Really?"_

 _He laughed. "Really. Oh, believe me, Lena – I understand what it's like to want to rid yourself of a parent." He sounded almost sympathetic, and Lena felt something strange inside her._

 _'Is that how liking someone feels?' she wondered silently. 'Do I like him?'_

 _"But there is a lot to learn before we reach that particular lesson," the Dark Lord continued. "And besides, I'm afraid your mother is rather useful to me at the moment. But perhaps in time, she will no longer... be necessary."_

 _"And you wouldn't stop me then?" asked Lena quietly._

 _His expression suddenly became more serious. "Let the first thing I teach you be this: if someone treats you badly, don't let them get away with it. Punish them." He paused. "Your mother treats you badly, Lena. And if I teach you well enough, one day you will be able to punish her accordingly. When that time comes, I won't stand in your way." He stared at her for a few more seconds, before saying abruptly, "I will see you next week."_

 _Lena watched as he closed the door behind him. A smile played on her lips. The Dark Lord was going to be her teacher._

 _'One day', she told herself, 'I'm going to be as powerful as him. And nobody – not Mother, not anyone – will ever hurt me again.'_


	6. Family Matters

**Author's Note: Firstly, I just want to thank everybody who has favourited, followed and reviewed this story. It's incredibly encouraging to know there are people actually reading this :)  
**

 **Secondly: The reason I'm updating this story quite frequently at the moment because I'm on a break from uni at the moment, and I want to get as much done on this as I can before the next semester starts. But break's over in a couple of weeks, so I probably won't be getting each chapter up as quickly then. Just in case anyone's wondering why when that starts to happen.**

* * *

 _Saturday 23 November, 1991:_

"Face it, Rolf," laughed Skelton, "the Hufflepuff team is shit this year – just like every other year."

Rolf sniffed. "Just wait, Maggie. Our time will come, and then we'll see who's laughing."

Skelton snorted. "Yeah – _me_."

Lena shook her head in amusement at Skelton and Rolf's bickering. They'd recently finished watching the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch match. It had taken less than hour for Ravenclaw to annihilate Hufflepuff 240 points to nil, to Rolf's disappointment and Skelton's glee. Instead of heading for lunch in the Great Hall like the rest of the student body, the three of them, after a visit to the kitchens, were heading to one of their favourite spots in the Hogwarts' grounds with a basket of food painstakingly prepared for them by the house elves. Mortimer, who had been in Lena's pocket during the game and had now climbed on to her shoulder, was excited to be allowed outside.

"And it was such a boring game," Skelton was saying. "Nowhere near as exciting as our game against Gryffindor-"

"Which Slytherin lost," pointed out Rolf.

Skelton shrugged. "Well, I'm not exactly someone who would win any awards for house loyalty, am I? Besides, I'd rather watch an entertaining game than one where one side just gets hammered by the other."

Lena slightly frowned. She hadn't watched the Slytherin-Gryffindor game two weeks earlier, where Harry Potter had apparently almost being thrown off his broom – which sounded highly suspicious to Lena, so she was annoyed she hadn't been there to witness it. But at the time, she hadn't been in the mood to watch a Quidditch game.

It had been three weeks since her blow-up in Snape's office, and she'd been bothered by that morning to the point of distraction ever since. Only earlier that week, McGonagall had asked her a question in Transfiguration and she hadn't been able to answer it. The week before that, she'd earned an E on a piece of Herbology homework – the first time she'd ever gotten anything less than an O. How out-of-character these things were for Lena was only emphasised by her teachers' reactions – instead of annoyance or disappointment, McGonagall and Sprout had seemed genuinely concerned for her. The Transfiguration teacher had even asked Lena if she was ill.

As they drew closer to their destination – a spot by the edge of the Forbidden Forest but was a fair distance away from Hagrid's hut – Lena couldn't help but wonder if McGonagall's question hadn't been that far off the mark. Was she sick? She hadn't lost control of her magic like she had in Snape's office since she was very young.

The worst thing was that the incident had brought lots of memories back to the forefront of Lena's mind – memories that Lena usually did her best to keep buried away in the depths of her mind. Memories of her mother, of lessons with Voldemort, of the Orb–

'No," Lena told herself aggressively, slightly shaking her head as if physically trying to get that memory out of her mind. 'Don't go down that road. That's done with.'

"Lena?"

Lena snapped back to reality, and looked at Rolf, who had spoken. "Yes?"

Rolf and Skelton quickly exchanged a look.

"You okay?" asked Rolf, hesitantly. He looked concerned. "You just seemed a bit... out of it."

"I'm fine," said Lena shortly. "Right, you've got the blanket?"

Rolf and Skelton looked at each other again in silent conference. Skelton gave a small shrug.

Rolf sighed softly. "Yep," he answered Lena, pulling picnic blanket out of his bag as they stopped at the spot they were going to eat. He lay it down on the ground, and the three of them sat down. Lena, who'd been carrying the basket of food and three plates, started to set it all out.

She felt Mortimer tug on her hair. She picked him up and placed him on the ground. "Now," she said to him, "be careful in there, and be back here in one hour. Understand?"

The bowtruckle rolled his tiny eyes like a moody teenager being lectured by his mother, but nodded.

"Good. Off you go then."

Gleefully, Mortimer scuttled off into the Forest. Lena watched him fondly.

"Do you think he meets up with the other bowtruckles in there?" mused Rolf.

"Maybe," considered Lena, cocking her head, "but I can't say I've ever seen him show much interest in other members of his own species."

"No wonder the two of you get along so well."

Skelton, who had just taken a sip of water, snorted, spraying water everywhere.

After giving her fellow Slytherin a disapproving look, Lena raised an eyebrow at Rolf. "You trying to psychoanalyse me, Scamander?"

He grinned. "Merlin, I'd love to see you in a counselling session."

"I reckon any psychiatrist would love to meet you," added Skelton. "You'd probably give them enough material to write a whole book."

Lena took a bite out of a chicken salad sandwich, and chewed it thoughtfully. She swallowed, then said drily, "Maybe that's what I'll tell Snape in my Careers Advice meeting next year – that I'm going to spend the rest of my life in analysis."

Instead of laughing, Skelton and Rolf looked at her in surprise.

"What?" asked Lena, confused.

"Nothing," said Skelton in a too-casual way. "Just that it's the first time you've brought up Snape in a conversation since the day after Halloween."

Lena looked away, annoyed at herself. After what happened in Snape's office, she had told Skelton and Rolf only the bare minimum of what had gone on the night of Halloween – that she had gone up to the third-floor corridor, suspecting that was where Quirrell was going, but had found Snape instead, whose leg had been bitten by the three-headed dog (aspiring magizoologist that Rolf was, he'd immediately wanted to go and see the beast, but was eventually persuaded out of it by Lena). She'd only told them that she met with Snape the next morning to discuss the events of the previous night, and hadn't mentioned anything else that went down in that meeting.

But her reluctance to discuss anything more, and Snape's refusal to so much as look at her, had clued Skelton and Rolf in to the fact that something else must have happened. But they knew her well enough to know they wouldn't get anywhere by pressing the issue with her – if Lena wanted to tell them anything, she'd do it in her own time. It was their acceptance of this behaviour that made them the closest thing Lena had to friends.

However, unintentionally bringing up Snape had caused Lena to start dwelling on everything again. As Skelton and Rolf, who sensed that Lena wanted a moment to retreat into herself, struck up a conversation about their latest Care of Magical Creatures classes (a subject that all three of them took), Lena found herself wondering again why _Snape_ of all people had made her lose control like that. She supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was the only person at Hogwarts that she'd known back when she was still living with her parents, before their incarceration in Azkaban.

'Well,' thought Lena wryly, 'that's not strictly true. There's Draco now too..."

She recalled the time in the first week back of the school year that Draco had finally found her, and initiated a conversation.

 _"Hello," said the small, pointed-faced boy, as he slid into the spot opposite to where Lena sat eating dinner. Skelton wasn't there, as she'd been busy finishing off a piece of Charms homework, so Lena was sitting alone. The boy, her cousin Draco Malfoy, continued, "I've been wanting to talk to you ever since I got to Hogwarts." He was attempting a confident drawl, but Lena could hear the nervousness underneath it._

 _Instead of responding, she just stared at him, emotionless, twirling some spaghetti around her fork._

 _The young Malfoy tried again. "My name is Dra-"_

 _"Draco Malfoy," interrupted Lena, still expressionless. "Yes, I know."_

 _"You do?" There was a small amount of relief in his voice. Lena supposed he'd been wondering if the reason she hadn't approached him was simply because she didn't know who he was._

 _"Yes. We've met before, though I doubt you would remember it, seeing as you were a squalling infant at the time."_

 _Draco's face flushed. "Right. Well, I just thought, seeing as we're family-"_

 _Lena raised an eyebrow. "What, that I'd... what's the expression, 'take you under my wing'?_

 _Draco squirmed. "Um, well, that's not exactly how I'd put it."_

 _"But it's what you mean," said Lena, her voice becoming sharper. "Or at least, you want to know that I'm on your side if you ever need me." In her peripheral vision, she could see a lot of Slytherins were watching their conversation with interest. She ignored them, continuing to stare at Draco intently. "So, family matters to you, does it?" she asked suddenly._

 _Draco looked surprised at the question. "Um, I suppose so," he said._

 _"And your parents, I imagine they told you about me before you started school. I'm curious, what did they say?"_

 _"Just that you were my cousin, and you'd be starting Fifth Year. And," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "that you were the daughter of my mother's sister, the one who's in Azkaban." When Lena didn't say anything, he continued, "They also said that you're powerful. Really powerful."_

 _Draco watched Lena expectantly as she took another mouthful of spaghetti, chewed it, and swallowed. She put down her fork, and leant forward, resting her chin on one of her hands._

 _"Funny," she said, "that they're showing so much interest in me now, considering that after my parents were arrested, they wanted nothing to do with me."_

 _Draco looked nervous again. "I-"_

 _Lena cut him off. "I guess after Lucius escaped a sentence in Azkaban, he didn't feel as much pressure to distance himself from more... unsavoury, family connections. But of course," she gave Draco a twisted smile, "you wouldn't remember any of that time. Does he tell you any stories, though? Your father, about his time as a Death Eater?"_

 _Lena picked up her fork again, and started to eat again. But she didn't take her eyes off Draco, who appeared to be at a loss for words. In fact, he actually looked frightened now. Obviously, people did not often speak so openly about his father's past._

 _"I've heard... things," he finally muttered. He hesitated. "Maybe – maybe, you could tell me more?" he asked, almost shyly. "If you remember..."_

 _Lena swallowed her food. "You want all the gory details?" she said wryly. "Tales of heroic exploits by the noble followers of the great Dark Lord?" She smiled mockingly. "Daddy's your role model, then? You want to be just like him when you grow up?"_

 _Draco glared at her. "Yeah," he said forcefully. "Anything wrong with that?"_

 _"Yes," Lena told him bluntly. "And if you're lucky enough – or smart enough – you'll realise that yourself before it's too late." Having finished her dinner, she put down her fork, and leant forward on her elbows. "I might be your family, Draco, but I'm not your friend. Don't expect me to help you out when you get yourself into trouble, and don't try to use your connection to me to intimidate others, because they will very quickly learn that I_ don't _have your back. Now, stay out of my way, and I won't have to walk over you."_

 _As she began to get up, Draco, looking at her with dislike and anger, said contemptuously, "I heard that your friend is a Mudblood."_

 _Lena went very still for a second, before sitting down again. "Did you, now?"_

 _Anybody who'd known Lena for a bit longer would have immediately recognised the warning signs in her posture, expression and voice – it all quite closely resembled a snake waiting to strike. But Draco had only just met his cousin, so he did something very stupid, especially for a little First Year only at the very beginning of his magical education – he stood his ground._

 _"Yeah," he said defiantly. "Is it true? Is your best friend a dirty Mud-"_

 _He abruptly stopped talking, and clutched his throat. His eyes bulged._

 _Lena, whose wand was trained on Draco from under the table, spared a glance at the teachers' table. None of them were looking her way. Satisfied, she fixed her attention on her little cousin again, who was struggling for air._

 _"You know," she began conversationally, "before, I just found you uninteresting. But now," she smiled pleasantly at the boy who was desperately trying to breathe, "I've decided I don't like you very much." She could feel other Slytherins' eyes on them, but was unconcerned by it. It wasn't like any of them were going to intervene, or draw a teacher's attention to it. "You see, little Malfoy," she continued, "it's really none of your business who I choose to associate with. And being rude about said associates – well, that's just crossing a line." She magically choked him for another couple of seconds, before releasing him._

 _Draco gasped for air, and eyed Lena in fear. She just smiled back at him._

 _"All right, there?" she asked him cheerfully. "You look a little short of breath."_

 _He didn't respond; instead, he just massaged his throat._

 _"You see, cousin dear," said Lena quietly, "that's how it works. I gave you a warning to stay out of my way. You elected to ignore it. I punished you. So I'm going to give you another warning now: don't talk to me. Don't insult people who I like. Just stay in your own little bubble where you think that you're important because Mummy and Daddy say you are, where all your little friends look up to you, where you can confuse your blood status and money for power. Because trust me, if that bubble bursts, you're not going to like what you find." She leant forward, closer to Draco, who instinctively drew back. "I'm not my mother, Malfoy," she whispered." But ignore the warnings I just gave, and you'll find out just how nasty I can be."_

 _Abruptly she stood up and turned to go, but at the last second, looked back at Draco. "You should ask somebody about a girl named Leonora Travers. I'm sure you'll find it most illuminating." Satisfied with the expression of terror on his face, she smiled at him one last time, before leaving._

The next time she'd seen her cousin, she was fairly certain he had asked someone about Travers, because he'd been walking down a staircase and the moment he saw her, he'd panicked and missed the next step, falling all the way down to the bottom of the stairs.

Lena munched on a blueberry muffin, and wondered whether she'd initially been too harsh on Draco. Undoubtedly much of Draco's behaviour was the product of his upbringing by Lucius and Narcissa.

During the part of her childhood spent abroad, Lena hadn't heard much about the Malfoys, other than the fact they had avoided Azkaban. Since arriving back in England, she'd learned that they were still a wealthy and influential family. She'd also learned, mostly from inhabitants of Knockturn Alley, that blood purity was still a value they covertly practised, and that Lucius still dabbled with the Dark side of magic; apparently, he was a frequent visitor to Borgin and Burkes.

Lena knew that children usually tried to emulate their parents' behaviour and beliefs. Not from experience, of course. Rodolphus had ignored her, and Bellatrix despised her, so Lena had never tried to be like her parents. In fact, she had on several occasions argued against their pureblood supremacist views just to provoke her mother. But Lena was certain that Draco had been loved and spoiled by his parents, so naturally he thought what they believed was right.

But Lena couldn't bring herself to let that be an excuse for who he was. Perhaps some of her resentment of him from her childhood – a baby whose parents thought the world of – had lingered after all these years. And then when he had called Skelton a Mudblood...

She hadn't told Skelton about that – only that'd she finally spoken with her cousin, and that he was the annoying little prat she'd expected him to be. As usual, Skelton had not pushed the matter any further than that.

Suddenly, Rolf's voice cut through Lena's internal monologue.

"So you're both invited to spend Christmas with my family."

Startled, Lena dropped her muffin. She cursed under her breath and picked it up again, then stared at Rolf. Skelton was looking at him too, incredulous.

"We're what?" asked Skelton.

Rolf gave them both an uncertain smile. "Well, I wrote home last week, asking if you could spend the holidays with us, and they said yes."

"Really?" inquired Lena suspiciously. "Your dad was happy for _me_ to spend Christmas at your home?"

Rolf's dad had been an Auror, until an injury sustained in the last Wizarding War from a Death Eater had forced him into early retirement.

Rolf shrugged. "Well, I wasn't exactly able to see his reaction first-hand, but Mum's said it's all good. Besides, we'll be at my grandparents' home all Christmas," he added slyly.

Inwardly, Lena cursed Rolf. He knew she wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to meet his grandfather, the famed magizoologist Newt Scamander.

Skelton, meanwhile, looked incredibly awkward. "I wouldn't want to intrude on a family gathering," she said stiffly.

Rolf rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on," he said, exasperated. "Do you really want to spend another Christmas alone at Hogwarts? Is eating Christmas dinner with the teachers really such an enjoyable experience that you couldn't bear to miss it?"

Skelton always stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas, having no desire to return to whatever foster home she went to during the summer.

For her first three years at Hogwarts, Lena had spent the Christmas holidays with Aunt Valeriya in either Knockturn Alley or travelling around the world like they used to. The previous Christmas, however, Aunt Valeriya had gotten caught up in Israel, and Lena had stayed at Hogwarts with Skelton.

"Look, Lena, Maggie," Rolf was saying. "I know the two of you aren't exactly, you know, touchy-feely people – I mean, Merlin, you still always call each other by your surnames, which, even if you refuse to admit it, _is_ extremely weird. Because you guys _are_ friends, even if saying it makes you want to vomit. And," he took a deep breath, "you're _my_ friends. My best friends. And it would mean a lot to me if you would spend Christmas with me and my family this year."

There was silence for a few seconds.

"That was some of the most disgustingly sentimental drivel I've ever heard," said Skelton.

"I almost threw up in my mouth," added Lena.

As Rolf threw his hands up in frustration, Lena and Skelton exchanged a look, and came to an unspoken agreement.

"Fine," Lena told Rolf, whose face broke into a grin. "We accept your invitation to join the Scamander family for Christmas."

"Providing, of course," warned Skelton, "that you promise to never bring up all that friendship crap again. That's ten seconds of my life I'll never get back."

"Done," agreed Rolf, grinning unashamedly. "Well, the school will need your guardian's permission to let you go home with me, so Lena, you'll have to write to your aunt, and Maggie, you'll need to contact your..."

"Social worker?" supplied Skelton, trying to hide her amusement at Rolf's child-like glee.

"Yep, that's the one," beamed Rolf.

"Please tell me you're not going to remain this excited for the entire holiday period," groaned Lena. "I don't think I could deal with it."

Rolf just continued to beam at them. "Sorry," he laughed, "that's something I can't promise."

* * *

 _Friday 20 December, 1991:_

The evening before students left for the Christmas holidays, Lena felt restless. She had finished packing, and hadn't felt particularly hungry, so she'd left dinner early. She didn't feel like reading, or practicing any spells. She kept reaching dead ends when trying to figure out what Dumbledore was hiding in Hogwarts, and what Quirrell wanted it for, and at that moment, couldn't summon up the motivation to persist in her efforts.

In short, she was bored. And there were few things Lena hated more than being bored.

She flopped down on her bed. Skelton hadn't come back from dinner yet, so Lena had the dormitory to herself. She glanced at Mortimer's spot on her bedside table. He was lying on his small pile of leaves, asleep. Lena huffed, annoyed. Even her bowtruckle had left her to suffer from boredom. She glanced at the clock that was also on the bedside table. 8:04pm. Lena groaned. There was no point trying to turn in for an early night, she could never get to sleep before 11pm.

Lena sat up. There were another two hours until curfew. 'Might as well use it,' she told herself. She changed out of her uniform skirt and tights, and into a pair of black jeans. She left her school blouse on, but removed the Slytherin tie, and pulled on her favourite sweater, a lightweight woollen black one that she'd bought as a present for herself the previous Christmas. Finally, she put on a pair of ankle-boots, grabbed her wand, and left the dormitory.

The common room was about half-full. She saw Draco sitting with his two thuggish friends. The moment he noticed her, he quickly looked away. Lena quietly snorted. Even though it had been three months since their dinner-time talk, the boy's fear of her had evidently not diminished. Briefly, Lena wondered what it would have been like if she had not thoroughly rejected her cousin's offer of... of what? Friendship? A mutually beneficial arrangement? Lena shook her head as she exited the Slytherin Dungeon. It didn't matter now. The Malfoys were just one more connection to her own parents that she didn't need to endure.

For the next hour-and-a-half, Lena wandered around Hogwarts, taking many of the secrets passages throughout it that she'd discovered over the past four years. She wasn't arrogant enough to assume that she'd discovered all the secrets of Hogwarts, but she liked to think she'd found a fair few.

A couple of times she narrowly avoided running into the caretaker Filch and his cat Mrs Norris. It was an occupational hazard of exploring Hogwarts, as was coming across the Weasley twins. Actually, the twins were the ones who were usually more startled when Lena popped up in one of the passages they were excitedly venturing through. She'd learned they were creative when it came to expressing their shock verbally; 'Merlin's man-bags!' was probably her favourite.

Lena was strolling down a narrow corridor on the first-floor, when she heard a voice she had no desire to hear –Snape's. She and the Potions Master were still keeping their distance from each other; their interaction these days amounted to no more than handing in Potions projects and homework, and receiving a single letter grade (always an O) in return.

It sounded like he was talking to Filch. Wishing to avoid an awkward and potentially unpleasant encounter, Lena quickly opened the door nearest to her, and ducked through into the room behind it. She quietly closed the door, and listened, waiting for Snape and Filch's voices to disappear.

She briefly looked over her shoulder to see where she was – an unused classroom of some sort. Turning back to face the door, she did a double-take. There was something else in the classroom.

' _Lumos,_ ' she incanted in her head, and the end of her wand lit up.

It was a mirror. It was full-length, with clawed feet and a gold frame. There were some words inscribed around it, but Lena couldn't read them properly from where she was standing.

Snape and Filch's voices had faded by this point, but Lena didn't notice, her attention now focussed on the mirror. Wanting to read the inscription, she moved closer to it.

Then she saw her reflection, and her wand-light went out.

But it didn't matter, because Lena could still see her reflection. It was holding something in the hand that didn't carry her wand. The sound of her thudding heart rang in her ears as Lena realised what the something was.

Hecate's Orb.

And then thoughts of the Orb evaporated. Lena had noticed that in the reflection, there was someone standing next to her, with his arm around her shoulders, and looking at her with so much _pride_.

Lena staggered back as if she'd been punched in the gut. She couldn't breathe. She desperately gasped for air, but it wouldn't come. Turning her back on the mirror, she stumbled in the dark towards the door. The thought of casting _Lumos_ again didn't occur to her, she was in such distress. Once she'd found the door, she wrenched it open. She didn't bother to close it behind her. Instead, she sprinted to the nearest bathroom – the fact that it was Moaning Myrtle's wasn't a concern.

She didn't slow down as she reached her destination, she just slammed her body into the door to open it and ran to the nearest cubicle, ignoring Myrtle's cry of surprise. Then she threw up into the toilet.

She vomited again and again until there was nothing left in her stomach. Then she slumped to the floor, her whole body convulsing.

"Hello?" she heard Myrtle hesitantly ask from behind her. "Are... are you all right?"

Lena didn't answer. She didn't think she could have spoken even if she wanted to.

But Myrtle seemed to be unusually concerned about her health. "Do you need me to get someone? Should... should I get Madam Pomfrey?"

Desperately, Lena forced her voice into action. "No!" she rasped, finally turning around to look at the ghost, who was hovering a couple of metres behind her. "No, it's fine."

Myrtle looked doubtful. "Are you sure? You look... sick."

Wanting the ghost to leave her alone, Lena snapped back, "Really? Well, you're looking a bit peaky yourself."

Affronted, Myrtle began to say, "I'm just trying-"

"Sorry, Myrtle, but if I wanted an opinion on my health, I'd ask someone who's actually _alive_ ," interrupted Lena coldly.

Myrtle burst into ghostly tears, and zoomed out of the bathroom, wailing.

The relief at being left alone was fleeting, as the image of what she'd seen in the mirror filled her mind again. The Orb had been bad enough, but seeing _him_...

Lena didn't know at what point the realisation had struck – she supposed it had been subconscious – but she knew what the mirror was. She had talked about it once with a Norwegian witch Aunt Valeriya had introduced her to. The Mirror of Erised, which showed the most desperate desire of a person's heart. According to witches and wizards who dealt in the business of magical artefacts, the Mirror had been lost more than a century ago, and nobody knew of its whereabouts.

And then it had just been there, in an unused classroom. Almost as if it was waiting for her.

Lena took a deep, shuddering breath, and leaned against the cubicle wall. Her whole body felt limp. Her heart was still racing, and it was like every beat was vibrating throughout her whole body. Everything just... _hurt._

She wished that the Mirror was lying. But deep down, she knew it wasn't.

It had been ten years, fifty-one days, four hours and forty-seven minutes since she'd last seen him. And in all that time, her heart's most desperate desire had not changed.

 _"I wish you were my father."_

 _"If you were my daughter, Lena, I would be proud to be your father."_


	7. A Scamander Christmas

**Author's Note: I found this the most difficult chapter to write so far, so it took a little longer than I would have liked to publish this. It's also quite a bit longer than I expected, so I'm sorry about that.  
**

 **Obviously, it's a little complicated writing about the Scamanders when there's only been one _Fantastic Beasts_ movie at this point, but hopefully the stuff I've made up works okay. **

**Anyway, here's Chapter 7; and if anybody has any thoughts on it, I'd love to hear them :)**

* * *

 _Tuesday 24 December, 1991:_

It had been eleven years since Lena had sat down for a proper family dinner for Christmas Eve. Of course, that was a loose definition of 'proper family dinner'. Yes, most of her family from both the Lestrange and Black sides had been there, and there had been lots of delicious food – and then somebody had made a comment about Lena beginning to look more like her mother, which had started an argument which ended with Bellatrix trying to curse her daughter, and Lena magically throwing a still burning Christmas pudding at her mother's face.

Just an everyday, run-of-the-mill, Lestrange family gathering.

But this evening, sitting at the dinner table with Skelton, Rolf, his parents and grandparents, Lena was seeing for the first time what a normal, happy family at Christmas was like.

Rolf's mother, who insisted that Lena and Skelton call her by her first name, Delilah, had been working in the kitchen since two o'clock in the afternoon to prepare the magnificent feast that lay before them now – turkey, ham, roast potatoes, pumpkin, corn, peas, sprouts, bread rolls, and cranberry sauce filled every inch of the table, barely leaving enough room for their plates. It all tasted very nearly as good as the house elf prepared food at Hogwarts.

The last three days at the elder Scamanders' house had been mostly spent putting up decorations and the Christmas tree – something neither Lena nor Skelton had done before. Mortimer had also helped, obviously delighted by the novelty of a tree that was inside. The little bowtruckle was also enamoured by Newt, who appeared to feel the same about the little green creature.

"I used to have a little friend like him about sixty or more years ago," Newt had told Lena, fondly watching Mortimer put the star on the top of the tree. "His name was Pickett. Helped me out of a lot of tight spots. But Merlin's beard, could he be a cheeky little fellow!"

Lena had smiled at the old man. "Mortimer's much the same." She'd heard a small noise from the top of the tree, and they'd both looked up to see Mortimer standing next to the perfectly-placed star proudly. "Looks great, Mortimer," she'd grinned up at the bowtruckle.

"Couldn't have done better myself," Newt had said, and Mortimer had been almost glowing with delight.

Now, as they ate, Mortimer sat by Lena's plate, munching on some fairy eggs Newt had bought him. Lena was tucking into the delicious roast potatoes.

"So, Maggie," Delilah was saying, "Rolf was telling me Herbology is one of your favourite subjects."

Skelton swallowed her mouthful of food. "Erm, yeah," she answered awkwardly. "It's pretty good."

Lena hid a smile. Years of meeting Aunt Valeriya's clients had taught her how to put on a charming demeanour, especially in a potentially uncomfortable situation. Skelton, however, had never learnt this ability; in fact, charm was not something that ever easily came to Skelton. And she was so unused to people taking an interest in her – and being _nice_ to her – like the Scamanders were, that every interaction she was having with them was coming off as awkward and stiff.

"What about Herbology particularly appeals to you?" asked Delilah.

Skelton shrugged. "Um, I don't know. I mean, I guess I just like... plants," she finished lamely.

Delilah smiled at her politely.

Lena refrained from banging her head on the table like she wanted to, and decided to help out Skelton. "I guess growing up in the middle of a city, you didn't get a lot of opportunity to see plant life like we do at Hogwarts," she said pointedly at Skelton, hoping she'd take the hint.

"Right, yeah," said Skelton, giving Lena a grateful look. "Most of the plants I saw when I was growing up were, well, small and stunted. They didn't get a chance to flourish. And everything was so grey. I guess going into the greenhouses at Hogwarts just shows a side of the world I never got to know when I was younger," she told Delilah, more confident in what she was saying.

Delilah seemed to like this answer, and gave Skelton a more genuine smile than the one before.

Tina, Rolf's grandmother, was the next to speak. "Rolf said that you both do Care of Magical Creatures like him, but what are your other electives?" Her American accent stood out among all the other English dialects.

"Well, we both do Ancient Runes," answered Skelton, evidently more comfortable talking to the Scamanders now. "But Lena also does Arithmancy."

"Oh, that sounds like a heavy workload," said Delilah to Lena.

Before Lena could respond, Rolf jumped in. "Heavy for anyone else," he said, grinning. "But Lena just breezes through it. She'll get Outstanding on all her OWLs, I bet."

"Are you hoping to go into a career that needs lots of NEWTs?" inquired Delilah, curious.

"Not necessarily," said Lena carefully. "I'd just prefer to leave as many options open as possible. Anyway, it's more that I just like learning about as many different branches of magic as I can."

She looked across the table to see that Rolf's father was watching her with an unreadable expression.

Elijah Scamander had not shown any outward display of distaste for Lena, but she was perceptive enough to know that he – like most people she met – was wary of her. She suspected that Delilah and Tina were too, but they covered it up by being extraordinarily nice to her, asking her questions and smiling at her. Elijah stayed distant from her, observing rather than interacting.

Rolf had told her the career-ending injury his father had suffered during the War was from a curse that the healers at St Mungo hadn't been able to identify. The only thing Elijah could tell them was that it had been performed with a slashing movement, and the wand had emitted a purple flame.

Lena had a very firm suspicion that the Death Eater who had injured Elijah was her great uncle, Antonin Dolohov. But she had no intention of telling any of the Scamanders that.

"Well," said Delilah, "it's always nice to know that there are young people who take their education seriously. But it's also good to have a general idea of what you want to do after school. After all, you'll all be sixteen soon, and then it's only one year until you're of age."

"Actually," said Lena, "I turned sixteen a couple of weeks ago."

There was a loud noise as Rolf dropped his fork onto his plate. "What?" he yelped. "You had your birthday? I thought it was during the summer holidays!"

Lena looked at Rolf, amused. "Why on Earth would you think that?"

"You never told me when it was when I asked you, so I assumed it must be during the holidays when you're not with us," he said defensively.

The rest of the Scamanders were obviously struggling to hide their surprise that Rolf didn't know when his friend's birthday was, while Skelton looked more surprised that Lena had actually admitted that she'd had a birthday.

"Well, it's not," said Lena, nonchalant. She turned back to Delilah. "And I agree, it's a good idea to know what sort of area you might be interested in for a job after school. I think I'll probably want to do something involving magical artefacts."

Newt, who had been listening to the conversation with interest, finally spoke. "What is it that interests you in that particular area?"

Lena chewed her food thoughtfully. "I suppose," she said after swallowing, "I've always had an interest in magic that isn't just tied to one person – magic that's been left ingrained into an object, and that can last for centuries. Like..." she paused, trying to think of the best way to explain it. "Like magic that's a separate entity from the wizard or witch that wields it, if that makes sense."

Newt nodded, smiling at her. "You're interested in the nature of magic itself."

Lena smiled back. "Exactly. And my great aunt works with magical artefacts, so I already have some contacts in the business through her."

Elijah also finally joined the conversation, looking at Lena intently. "And by business, you mean the private sector, I take it?"

Lena met his gaze. "Yes. I'm afraid I can't see myself working for, or with, the Ministry."

There was an awkward silence for a couple of seconds, before Delilah hurriedly broke it.

"So Newt told me you lived abroad before you came to Hogwarts; where were you living?" she asked Lena.

"Switzerland. But I travelled a lot, mostly around Europe but a few places in Asia and Africa too."

"With your great aunt? She was the one who raised you?" inquired Tina.

"Actually, my grandmother was my guardian at that time," explained Lena. "But I... spent a lot of time with my great aunt." She added, " When I moved back to England, my great aunt took custody of me. My grandmother remained abroad."

She noticed that Skelton gave her an odd look when she said this, but before she could dwell on it, Tina and Newt, who had extensively travelled around the world, were asking her about which were her favourite places she had visited.

As the conversation gradually moved to tales of Newt's adventures as a magizoologist, Lena felt strangely relaxed and... happy. It was an odd sensation, but she realised that she was enjoying herself, just sitting there having dinner with the Scamander family and Skelton.

But of course, something had to happen to spoil Lena's mood.

Finished eating, Skelton got up to put her plate away in the kitchen. She'd only walked a couple of metres when one of Newt and Tina's pet kneazles, Milly, came out of nowhere and ran past directly in front of her. Cursing in shock, Skelton stumbled back and dropped her plate.

Lena, who was talking to Delilah about her work at the publishing company Obscurus Books, saw this all happen out of the corner of her eye, and instinctively raised her hand in Skelton's direction.

The plate, the cutlery, and the remnants of Skelton's food froze in mid-air. The rest of the Scamanders turned around to see what had happened.

Delilah's eyes flicked back to Lena's outstretched hand, and she audibly gasped when she realised what Lena was doing. Tina was staring at her in shock, and Elijah had suddenly gripped the table. His eyes narrowed at her in suspicion. Newt simply looked curious, while Rolf watched the rest of his family nervously. Obviously, he hadn't told them about Lena's wandless magic.

Lena, attempting to ignore everyone's stares, focussed on the plate, cutlery, and food scraps. She twisted her hand, and everything that had come off the plate floated back onto it. She let the plate hang steadily in the air in front of Skelton, who stared at it blankly for a moment, before gingerly reaching out and taking it.

The plate safely in Skelton's hands, Lena dropped her own hand. As Skelton continued into the kitchen, Lena's eyes quickly swept across the dinner table. The suspicion in Elijah's eyes was still there, and when she made brief eye contact with Delilah, Rolf's mother immediately looked away – and Lena knew it was in fear.

Her stomach twisted. She abruptly stood up. "Sorry, I need some air," she mumbled, not looking any of them in the face. She picked up Mortimer, who made a noise of concern. Ignoring him, she put him on her shoulder and left the dining room. Nobody said anything.

* * *

Newt and Tina's house was a reasonably large one-storey building, surrounded by a vast garden. They had no next-door neighbours, and the nearest village was nearly two miles away. So there was almost no sound at all as Lena sat on the steps of the backdoor, looking out into the frost-covered garden.

Lena didn't really notice the cold; she was too pre-occupied with her thoughts. Mortimer, however, was not enjoying the winter air, and had curled himself up under Lena's jumper.

For as long as she could remember, Lena had always been something of an insomniac. While awake, she could control what was on her mind, and keep anything she didn't want to think about – or remember – locked away in the deep recesses of her mind. However, although her Occlumency shield protected her from any external intrusions when she slept, it could not protect her from herself.

Over the years, she'd gotten better at dealing with it – most of the time, she simply woke herself up the moment her thoughts strayed somewhere she had no desire to go. Of course, this meant that most days she was getting by with only about three hours of sleep. About once or twice a month, she would simply pass out from exhaustion – luckily, this usually occurred in her dorm – and would sleep for anywhere between six to twelve hours, and her mind would be too exhausted to be plagued by unwelcome thoughts. She would then go back her usual sleeping habits until she collapsed again.

Lena knew it was an incredibly unhealthy way to live, but she couldn't bring herself to ask anyone for help. She also knew there was a potion for Dreamless Sleep, but even so, that would only be a temporary solution, as potions like that were notorious for being extremely addictive, and dangerous in large quantities. So she just endured the insomnia, and it became her norm.

But that night she'd looked into the Mirror of Erised, Lena had not slept at all. She'd known if she'd let herself, she would immediately find herself back in her childhood bedroom with Lord Voldemort, on that last day she'd seen him. And Lena couldn't let herself do that, not when she'd spent so many years shoving that particular memory aside. She'd finally let herself sleep that first night at Newt and Tina's home, but only for an hour, and the moment she'd woken up, she'd ran to the bathroom and thrown up. It had been roughly the same story the following two nights.

And after what just happened in the dining room, Lena could not shake herself from thoughts of that final lesson. Moving multiple objects at the same time – exactly what she'd done when Skelton dropped her plate.

It had been so difficult back then, she remembered. Not like now, when it was something instinctive. 'Because I practiced,' thought Lena, as she ran her fingers through her hair and stared blankly out into the garden. 'Because I practised almost every day for the next year. So I could show him if he came back. _When_ he came back. So I didn't disappoint him.'

He didn't come back. But Lena still practised.

Lena had been sitting out there alone in near silence for almost an hour when the sound of the back door opening startled her. She looked over her shoulder to see Newt.

At first, he didn't say anything. He just looked up at the stars which filled the sky. Lena turned back around.

The door shut, and a moment later, Newt sat down next to her on the step. He was still looking up at the stars. Lena waited for him to speak.

"It's funny how history can repeat itself."

That was not what Lena had expected him to say. Surprised, she turned to Newt, who smiled back at her softly.

He looked back up at the stars again before turning to Lena. "When I was at Hogwarts, I had a friend named Leta Lestrange."

"I've never heard of her."

"She died some time ago," said Newt simply. "I'm afraid I'm not exactly sure of the details of your family tree, but I think she would have been your great-great aunt."

He looked down at his feet as his hands fidgeted with his woollen jumper. Lena watched him, waiting for him to continue. She knew he was well into his nineties, but it would be easy to forget that if it wasn't for his white hair and very wrinkled face. He still had a nervous energy about him, a sort of spryness that reminded Lena of Dumbledore.

"She was very interested," Newt finally said, "in magical experimentation – pushing the boundaries, so to speak. Much like you, I suspect."

Lena inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"It was, in fact," Newt went on, "one of her experiments that was the reason behind my expulsion from Hogwarts."

Lena looked at him sharply. Rolf had told her that Newt hadn't finished his Hogwarts schooling, but she'd assumed it had been voluntarily.

Newt noticed her expression. "A story for another time," he said firmly, but not unkindly. "Suffice to say, there was no truly malicious intent behind the experiment. But Leta's curiosity and ambition blinded her to the dangers of her... pursuits."

"And what, you're afraid I might do something similar?" demanded Lena.

"Are you?" he asked quietly, meeting her gaze for the first time.

Lena stared back for a few moments, before looking back out to the garden. "Not really," she answered truthfully. "Not anymore." She turned back to Newt, and explained, "I've gone down that road before, you see. The road of ambition – ambition beyond my capabilities. Arrogance. And at the end of that road was death." The image of Hecate's Orb flashed in her mind for a second. "I was dragged back from it at the last moment, but I got close enough to understand the importance of accepting my own limitations from then on." She shrugged. "It's not always easy – actually, it's almost never easy. I want to push those boundaries. But now, I think I know when to stop." She gave Newt a small smile. "So you can rest assured, Rolf is safe from me."

Newt opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. Eventually, he said, "I'm glad that you care about Rolf's wellbeing. But it was your own that I came out here to speak to you about."

Lena's smile vanished, and before she could stop herself, she snapped at Newt, "Don't."

Newt looked taken aback by her sudden change in demeanour. "Sorry?"

Lena took a deep breath, and attempted to fix her emotionless mask on her face. "I mean you don't need to worry about me," she said flatly. "I'm fine."

Newt's face softened. " I've spent the better part of seventy years working with magical creatures, Lena. And in that time, I've become quite adept at detecting some of the behaviour patterns that humans can share. Behaviour patterns like acting aggressively towards others to hide pain because they're afraid the others will take it as a sign of weakness." He paused. "Of course, in regards to humans, that pain is usually emotional rather than physical." His tone became very gentle, as though trying to calm down a panicked animal. "It's not weakness, that sort of pain – it's human."

"Human, is it?" replied Lena quietly. "Well, you'll have to tell me, Mr Scamander, if it's something more than just the name of a species – what is _human_? Because from what I've seen, humanity has a greater capability for cruelty than any other kind of beast. Hate, greed, intolerance – aren't they principally human traits? So what's so great about being _human_ , then? Why should I care that it's okay to hurt _just because it's human_?"

As Lena finished speaking, she realised she was shaking. Evidently, this had woken Mortimer, who climbed out of her jumper, and looked up worriedly at Lena.

"It's imperfect."

Lena looked up at Newt, who was watching her oddly. "What?"

"Humanity," clarified Newt. "It's imperfect. _We're_ imperfect." He sighed. "And complex – very, very complex." He looked up at the sky once again, before turning back to Lena. "But perhaps the best person to answer your questions about human nature would be a werewolf."

This completely threw Lena. "What?"

Newt smiled at her. "Sounds strange at first, doesn't it? Let me explain. Back in 1947, I worked with the Ministry to create something called the Werewolf Register – a list of all known werewolves in Great Britain. It's not available to the public, only to the section of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that control and maintain the registry. Naturally, that work led me into contact with quite a few werewolves. And from what I could tell, there were two different ways lycanthropy affected the nature of a person."

He paused, clearly trying to think of the best way to word what he was about to say. Lena waited, intrigued.

"You see," explained Newt, "when the full moon forces the transformation of a werewolf from man to beast, it becomes a monster. And believe me," he smiled wryly, "I don't use the word 'monster' lightly when describing non-human creatures. But that's what the werewolf is during the full moon. It loses all sense of reason, mercy, and self-identity. It is remorseless. It has a very singular purpose: to find humans, and attack them. Sometimes the attack is about creating more like them, other times it is simply to kill – but either way, they are compelled to attack. And that is the true curse of lycanthropy, Lena: it takes away the freedom to choose how to behave. Choice is, perhaps, one of the most human traits we have. And when the werewolf is back in its human form, it is presented with another choice. For although the human side loses control during the full moon, it remembers everything the monster does. Now, do you think you can guess what the choice is?"

Lena began twisting her hair around her fingers, and carefully considered what Newt had said. "So, a werewolf," she began slowly, "is in the unique position of being a human who knows – and experiences – what's it like to _not_ be human, in a way that even an animagus couldn't comprehend." She looked at Newt for confirmation. He nodded, and indicated for her to continue. "And they realise that..." she hesitated, trying to figure out exactly what she meant. "They realise that the two things don't have to be mutually exclusive – you can be that monster even when it's not full moon. But also... well, it's like the whole concept of 'you never really miss something until it's gone', right? You wouldn't really appreciate your humanity until it's gone."

Newt nodded again. "One of the werewolves I spoke to back then called it the 'embrace or reject' moment. Once they've had their first experience of the loss of their human nature, do they embrace the monster within, or do they reject it when they're in control, and cling to their humanity all the tighter now that it can slip away more easily?"

Lena cocked her head. "So what, lycanthropy can make you either a better person, or a worse one?"

Newt shook his head. "I don't think so. What it does, I would suggest, is reveal what sort of person you truly are, in a way that very few situations in life could ever match."

Lena mulled all this over in her head. A thought occurred to her. "But there's the Wolfsbane Potion now, isn't there? That's supposed to help werewolves retain their human mental faculties, right?"

Newt looked away from Lena, frowning. "Yes, that's its purpose," he said, sounding unconvinced.

Lena raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound very positive about it," she remarked.

Sighing, Newt turned back to her. "I'm not an expert on the intricacies of the Wolfsbane Potion," he began. "But from what I understand, it does not remove the monstrous nature of the transformed werewolf – rather, it suppresses it."

"And you see that as problematic?"

Newt grimaced. "The repression of the true nature of anything is always very dangerous, especially the longer it happens."

Now Lena understood his concerns. "And because it's a relatively new potion, we don't know what the long-term effects on the consumer could be. That's what worries you about it."

"Yes," agreed Newt. "All that aggression has to go somewhere..."

Lena remained silent. The talk of repressing parts of yourself for a long time was striking a little too close to home for her liking.

"In any case," said Newt, prompting Lena out of her introspection, "I hope you don't give up hope in humanity, Lena. And if most of what you've seen so far in your life is not confidence-inspiring, perhaps think about looking in different places, at different sorts of people." He paused, before gently placing a hand on her shoulder. Lena tensed, but didn't shake it off. "Human connections are always a good place to start," he told her.

Lena nodded slowly. She looked down at Mortimer and gave him a small smile. The bowtruckle, who had been sitting on her lap as he watched Lena and Newt converse, seemed satisfied that Lena's agitation had disappeared, and crawled back under her jumper, tired of the cold.

"It was very impressive," said Newt suddenly. "Your display of wandless magic, at the end of dinner."

"Thank you," said Lena quietly, not looking up at him.

"At what point do you need to use your wand?"

At this, Lena turned to him, surprised. "You mean, what's the extent of my wandless magic?"

Newt chuckled at her expression. "Do you not often get asked that? I would have thought most people would be interested to know."

Lena snorted. "Most people are too shocked by the fact that I can do _any_ wandless magic to ask how much I can do." She thought for a moment. "I can move objects around," she explained. "Lots, simultaneously. I'm pretty accurate too." Seeing Newt's curious expression, that lacked the fear and apprehension she was used to, an idea came to her. "For instance..."

Lena held her hands out in front of her, and then made a gesture as though she was gathering things up. Throughout the garden, the last of the fallen leaves rose up from the ground. Lena began making circular motions with her hand. The leaves began to float around. Lena made another hand gesture, and the leaves came together, forming the shape of a woman, who waved at Newt. He laughed softly, and waved back. Smiling slightly, Lena let go of her control of the leaves, and the leaves gently floated back to the ground.

"Remarkable," murmured Newt, watching the leaves.

"I can unlock doors," continued Lena, in a quiet voice. "Light fires. It's small things, mainly. Anything more complicated, like Transfiguration, I need my wand." She hesitated, then pulled her wand out of her sleeve, where she usually kept it when she didn't have big enough pockets.

Newt looked at it for a moment, before asking, almost shyly, "May I..."

Had it been anyone else, Lena would have been incredulous at the nerve of such a request. But Newt, she was coming to realise, was different. She passed her wand to him.

He held it up to the light that was coming from out of the house. "Ebony?"

Lena inclined her head.

"And the core?"

"Rougarou hair."

Newt's head jerked towards her in surprise. "I didn't know Ollivander used rougarou hair."

"He doesn't. I got my wand from a Romanian wandmaker. He prefers to keep his business out of the public eye" she said delicately, "so you probably wouldn't have heard of him."

"I see," replied Newt. "So you got it when you lived abroad."

As he gave the wand back to Lena, she smiled at it fondly. "Yes." A realisation struck. "Actually, it's exactly nine years to the day since I got it."

"Nine years?" inquired Newt, looking confused. "But you would have only been-"

"Seven, yes," admitted Lena. "Well, I was something of an early bloomer..."

* * *

 _24 December, 1982:_

 _"A Christmas present?" a seven year-old Lena asked Great Aunt Valeriya._

 _"Yes," replied Aunt Valeriya, as they turned a corner into an alleyway. "I trust you've received one before?"_

 _"Not any good ones," muttered Lena, before telling herself that wasn't strictly true. Lord Voldemort had given her a very interesting book about Legilimency and Occlumency for Christmas when she was five._

 _"Well, today's your lucky day," Aunt Valeriya told her. "Now, come on, we're here."_

 _What exactly 'here' was, Lena didn't know. All she knew was when she'd gone downstairs after waking up that morning, Aunt Valeriya had been in the kitche, and had told her to eat breakfast quickly and then get ready, because they would be leaving in half an hour. Then they'd been at Lustenberger's, and taken a Portkey to Bucharest, Romania. And now Aunt Valeriya was apparently going to buy her a Christmas present. It was something of a whirlwind day._

 _Having reached their destination, Aunt Valeriya took her wand out of her pocket, and traced a rune Lena didn't recognise on the wooden door in front of them. The rune glowed a bright orange for a second before fading. Apparently this was meant to happen, as Aunt Valeriya put her wand away and opened the door, ushering Lena in behind her._

 _Lena looked around the room curiously. The only light came from an ancient-looking and elaborately designed chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling. There were several aged but well-maintained armchairs on one side of the room, and a counter with a door behind it on the other. Aunt Valeriya walked straight up to this counter, and rang a little bell that sat upon it. A few moments later, the door opened and a man walked out._

 _"Ms Dolohov," he said quietly, but not unwelcomingly. "It's always a pleasure."_

 _"Likewise, Sârbu," Aunt Valeriya greeted him in the same tone, and they shook hands. "Now, let me introduce you to my niece."_

 _She gestured for Lena to come to the counter, as the man came out from behind it._

 _"This is Lena Lestrange," said Aunt Valeriya as Lena joined her. "Lena, this is Sârbu."_

 _The man, Sârbu, extended his hand. "Hello."_

 _"Hi," said Lena, taking the offered hand and shaking it. She guessed Sârbu was in his mid-thirties, although she couldn't be sure. He had an accent she didn't recognise, but she assumed it was Romanian. Even though Lena was only seven, she noticed he was quite an attractive man, slightly taller than average and slim, with shaggy brown hair, stubble, and very blue eyes. She briefly wondered if she'd been staring at him too long, but then she realised he was looking at her quite interestedly, and decided she hadn't come across as overly weird._

 _"Sârbu is," said Aunt Valeriya, "among other things, a wandmaker. He's going to help you find your Christmas present."_

 _Lena was confused."My... wait, you're buying me a wand? But I'm not eleven for another four years!"_

 _Aunt Valeriya snorted. "If the children at Mahoutokoro," she said dismissively, naming the Japanese Wizarding school, "start their proper magical training when they're seven, you can too."_

 _Lena's shock turned to delight. "You're going to start teaching me to use a wand now?" she said excitedly._

 _There was a flicker of a smile on Aunt Valeriya's face, which she quickly hid. "Well, I don't see any point in waiting until you start Durmstrang or Hogwarts, or wherever you end up going. Now, Sârbu's going to take you through," she indicated to the door he'd come through, "and you'll choose a wand. Or it'll choose you. However it works."_

 _If Lena was a more ordinary child, she probably would've hugged Aunt Valeriya. As it were, the thought didn't occur to her, but she did give her great aunt her most genuine smile. "Thank you."_

 _"You're welcome, Lena. Quickly now, I haven't got all day."_

 _Sârbu led Lena behind the counter and through the door into what she supposed was his workshop. There were about a hundred wands in their rectangular boxes, as well as some other objects, which when Lena looked closely, confirmed her suspicion that the 'other things' Aunt Valeriya had referred to Sârbu doing were probably not exactly legal. However, a year of travelling with Aunt Valeriya had made Lena immune to any shock at criminal pursuits._

 _For the next twenty minutes, Lena tried wand after wand, but none of them felt right. Instead, they all felt like they were trying to stifle the magic she already knew how to wield._

 _Then Sârbu had an idea._

 _"I recently came into possession of some rougarou hair," he told Lena as he led her to a workbench in the far corner of the workshop. "It's an American creature," he explained, seeing Lena's look of confusion, "that has a humanoid body, but the head of a dog. Very rare."_

 _He gestured down at the worktable, and Lena stood on her tiptoes to see what was on it. There were three roughly made wands: one of a reddish wood, one of a black, and one of light brown._

 _"I still have to put the finishing touches on these," said Sârbu. He pointed at the first wand. "Mahogany." He pointed to the second. "Ebony, and," he pointed to the last, "elm. Now," he smiled at Lena, "which one would you choose?"_

 _Lena immediately placed her hand over the ebony wand, and Sârbu chuckled. "Like the colour, do you?" he asked._

 _Lena blushed slightly in reply._

 _"Ebony does look impressive," he acknowledged. "But let's see if you can make it_ be _impressive."_

 _Taking a deep breath in, Lena picked up the black wand, and instantly decided she'd made the right choice. Instead of the clashing sensation she'd experienced holding the other wands, she felt the connection between her own magic and the wand's immediately form._

 _It was an incredible feeling. She smiled, and flicked the wand. Gold sparks burst out, and showered down on her and Sârbu._

 _The wandmaker grinned back at her. "Looks like it was the right choice."_

 _Lena tilted her head, remembering what her aunt had said before. "But who made it?" she questioned him. "Me, or the wand?"_

 _Sârbu mirrored her, cocking his head. "I imagine it was a mutual decision." He smiled wryly. "Somehow, I don't think either of you would be happy if you didn't get a say."_

 _Lena blushed again. Sârbu seemed to understand her strangely well for someone who'd only just met her._

 _He held his hand out to her. "I'll just put the finishing touches on it. And perhaps you could have some design input, if you like?"_

 _Unable to conceal her happy smile, Lena gave the wand back to him. "I'd like that very much."_

* * *

"I've never seen a rougarou," said Newt ruefully, looking at the wand as Lena absentmindedly twirled it in her fingers.

"Really?" said Lena. "There can't be many magical beasts you haven't seen."

"More than I would like," sighed Newt, sounding wistful.

Lena simply looked at the wand in her hands. It was entirely black, with the exception of the small piece of bone inserted into the end of where it was held. Inscribed into the bone were the initials _L.L.,_ in beautiful calligraphy. The slender wand was completely smooth except for the grooves carved into it that created a handle and hilt of sorts. It was exactly eleven inches long, and quite springy.

And over time, it also had definitively answered Sârbu's question from nine years ago: yes, in Lena's hands, it could _be_ a very impressive wand.

"I think," said Newt, snapping Lena out of her reverie, "that you might have had enough time to get that fresh air you needed."

Her conversation with Newt and the memory of first receiving her wand had made Lena forget her original reason for coming outside. Remembering the incident in the dining room, Lena cringed.

Newt saw this. "You shouldn't worry about everyone's reactions back there," he said firmly. "It was a bit of shock to us all – well, except Rolf and Maggie. They already knew about your abilities, I suppose?"

Lena nodded.

"I thought so, they didn't seem quite surprised enough." Newt paused. "Your parents had a reputation for being very powerful wizards, Lena," he continued quietly. "It's natural that people will be wary of your extraordinary magical ability."

Despite the mention of her parents, Lena couldn't hold back a snort. "Believe me, I didn't learn wandless magic from my parents – any 'abilities' I possess are not because of them."

"Either way-"

"I know," interrupted Lena flatly. "You don't need to explain public perception to me, I've become very familiar with it over the years. I'm used to getting those sort of looks. It was just..." she hesitated, and was unable to keep the regret out of her voice when she went on, "I was having such a lovely time tonight. It was so... nice."

Newt stood up, and smiled down at her. "Well, I'm glad to hear you enjoyed Christmas Eve. Now, come inside, get yourself to bed, and when you wake up tomorrow, let's make sure you have a good Christmas too."

Lena gave him a mock salute. "Yes, sir." She pulled a sleepy Mortimer out of her jumper and stood up. Newt opened the door, and Lena made to go through it. However, she paused on the threshold. "Newt?"

"Yes?"

"For whatever it's worth – I'd quite like to be human, if being human means being like you."

Newt laughed softly. "You don't need to be like me, Lena. You just don't need to be so afraid of being _you._ "

* * *

Lena slept better that night than usual – she got almost four hours of solid sleep. It meant she was more energised than normal, which was good because she didn't know if she could have dealt with Rolf's palpable excitement otherwise.

Before breakfast, they all sat around the Christmas tree exchanging gifts. Rolf passed one to Lena, who looked at the tag. It was from Skelton. Lena looked at the present curiously – this Christmas was the first time she and Skelton had ever exchanged gifts. She saw that Skelton, who was sitting a couple of metres away from her, was watching her. Meeting her gaze, Skelton awkwardly shrugged at Lena, as if to say, 'Yeah, apparently we're doing this giving-presents-to-each-other-thing now. Weird, huh?'

Lena undid the wrapping to find a white box. She opened it. Inside were a batch of white chocolate and macadamia biscuits that she instantly recognised as ones baked by the Hogwarts house elves – her very favourites. She looked back up at Skelton, and remembered what Newt had said the previous night: _"Human connections are always a good place to start."_

"I wasn't sure what would be useful to you, and I know that the house elves always make you those when they make lunch for us-"

"Thank you, Maggie."

There was a long pause. Out of the corner of her eye, Lena could see Rolf watching them, fascinated.

Hesitantly, Maggie smiled back at her. "You're welcome, Lena."


	8. The Philosopher's Stone

**So, Chapter 8 is finally here :) FYI, it's probably going to be about the same length of time until I get the next chapter up. In the meantime, however, enjoy :)  
**

* * *

 _Tuesday 11 February, 1992:_

The start of a new term at Hogwarts brought about yet a heavier workload for the Fifth Years, in preparation for their OWLs at the end of the school year. In the Slytherin Common Room, it became normal to see the Fifth Years still scribbling away on parchment or practising spells at midnight. It was even beginning to affect Lena – not the content of the homework itself, but the sheer amount of it. And combined with the fact that over the Christmas holidays she had decided to help Maggie and Rolf with their homework, this meant that she had very little time to dedicate to discovering what it was that the three-headed dog was guarding.

Sometimes, she was tempted to just use Legilimency to force herself into Quirrell's mind and see what it was he was after. However, Lena never used Legilimency if she could help it: firstly, because although she was good enough to break through the defences of most witches' and wizards' minds, she lacked the subtlety to do it undetected; and secondly, it was a violation that she found herself uncomfortable committing except in the most extreme circumstances. Furthermore, in the case of Quirrell, she was unsure how well-trained in the arts of Legilimency and Occlumency he was, and she didn't want to draw any more of his attention to her than was already devoted.

So Lena had been back at Hogwarts for about six weeks before her first real breakthrough in the mystery of the three-headed dog's presence came. She was in the library, finding references for a History of Magic essay about the formation of the International Confederation of Wizards . Lena usually sat in the aisles between the bookshelves when she was working in the library, instead of at one of the tables, preferring the privacy it afforded her. On that day, she was sat cross-legged on the floor leaning against a shelf, and transcribing some quotes from the book into her essay. The aisle she sat in had one more aisle between it and one of the tables, and she was briefly distracted from her essay when she heard some students sitting down at the table. She quickly surmised from how young their voices sounded that they were probably First Years, and returned her focus to her essay. However, about ten minutes later, she was distracted again by what one of the voices was saying.

"I'm telling you, Hermione, Nicolas Flamel can't be that famous a wizard if we've looked through a hundred books by now, and he hasn't been mentioned in any of them."

Lena's head snapped towards the direction the voice was coming from, surprised. Why on Earth would a First Year be interested in who Nicolas Flamel was? She closed the book she was looking through, stood up, and placed it back on the shelf. She gathered her things into her bag, and quietly moved towards the table.

There were three young Gryffindors sitting there, arguing with each other in voices which Lena assumed they thought were much quieter than they really were. There was a girl with bushy brown hair and a boy with flaming red hair facing her direction, and a boy with messy black hair who had his back to her.

"But I know I've heard the name before," insisted the dark-haired boy. "I just can't remember where."

"Besides," added the girl, "I don't think Hagrid would have been so cross with himself for letting Flamel's name slip if he wasn't someone important." She sighed. "I'm sure we'll at least find a mention somewhere." She picked up a book entitled _Greatest Magical Inventions of the 20th Century_ and opened it.

"Well, you're probably not going to find him in there."

The three heads immediately turned to face Lena, who was leaning against the shelf, an expression of mild interest on her face. She quickly recognised that the dark-haired boy was in fact Harry Potter, but didn't allow any sign of her recognition to show. The mistrust and apprehension of the three Gryffindors, however, was very visible.

"What do you want?" the redhead scowled at her. Lena, who identified him as being Percy Weasley's younger brother, was somewhat impressed by his confidence.

She sighed theatrically. "In an ideal world? To be able to do my homework in the library without the distraction of a bunch of loud First Years prattling to each other." The bushy-haired girl's face flushed, obviously embarrassed. "But if that's too much to ask for," continued Lena, "I suppose I could settle for ending your noisy dispute by telling you who Nicolas Flamel is... providing that would be of no inconvenience to you?" she sarcastically finished.

The three First Years look at each for a moment, before turning back to her.

"And why should we believe whatever you tell us?" said Potter suspiciously.

Lena raised an eyebrow at him. "Sorry to disappoint you, Potter, but hanging around the library so I can deliberately misinform little Firsties about notable figures in Wizarding history isn't the way I've earned my terrifying reputation."

Potter appeared to have registered the use of his name, but didn't seem surprised that Lena knew who he was. "Okay," he said warily, "then who is Nicolas Flamel?"

"Possibly the greatest alchemist to have ever lived," answered Lena, "and the inventor of the Philosopher's Stone."

Apparently, this didn't mean anything to the two boys. The girl, however, gave a small gasp.

"You've heard of the Stone, I take it?" said Lena to her. The two boys looked at their friend curiously.

The girl nodded. She said hesitantly, "I've come across it in... my readings."

"So what is it?" Weasley asked her impatiently.

But it was Lena who answered. "One of the most powerful magical artefacts in the world. Not only because it carries out the primary function of alchemy – to turn any metal into gold – but because it can create the Elixir of Life."

Potter frowned. "What's-"

"A potion that extends the life of the drinker," interrupted Lena.

"Extends for how long?" questioned Potter.

Lena shrugged. "As long as you keep drinking it. In Flamel's case, it's kept him alive for over six centuries."

Potter stared at her in disbelief. "You're telling me that there's somebody alive today who's over six hundred years old?"

Lena smirked at him. "I told you that you wouldn't find him in a book about magical inventions of the twentieth century. Mind you," she added thoughtfully, "you could have learnt all that from his Chocolate Frog card."

"He's on one of the cards?" said Weasley, surprised.

"Of course he is," snorted Lena. "He's an incredibly important figure in Wizarding history. Actually, I'm pretty sure he's even mentioned on Dumbledore's card."

A look of realisation flashed across Potter's face. "So that's where..." he muttered under his breath.

At the same time, an odd expression crossed the bushy-haired girl's face. She cleared her throat. "I imagine, then," she began, in a too-casual voice that immediately aroused Lena's suspicion, "that a lot of people would want to take the Philosopher's Stone from Nicolas Flamel, so that they could use it for themselves?"

Lena cocked her head slightly. "I believe," she said slowly, "that there have been attempts to steal the Stone. But none have been successful."

"It must be very well guarded," said the girl in the same too-casual tone. But the two boys must have clued on to whatever meaning she was trying to convey, because the three of them exchanged a significant look.

But Lena almost missed this, as a realisation dawned on her. 'Of course,' she thought to herself. 'That's what it's guarding.'

"We should be getting to dinner," said Potter abruptly to his friends, standing up. The other two followed his lead, and the three of them began to walk off. However, Potter stopped, and looked back at Lena.

"Erm, thanks," he said awkwardly.

Lena distractedly acknowledged him with a nod, before turning around and heading back into the aisles of shelves. Finally, she was getting somewhere.

* * *

"That's what the dog's guarding: Flamel's Philosopher's Stone!" said Hermione excitedly the moment the trio exited the library. "He must have known that somebody was after it, and he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him. That's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! _Anyone_ would want it."

Ron, however, was frowning. "I don't get it."

"Flamel must think that the Stone's in more danger than it has even been before," Harry said to him, "and like I told you, Hagrid said that Hogwarts was probably the only place safer than Gringotts-"

"That's not what I'm talking about," interrupted Ron. "I meant I don't get why _Lestrange_ would be so helpful – especially to _you_."

"What are you talking about?" a confused Hermione asked, and Harry remembered that she hadn't been there with them when Percy had told them about Lena Lestrange. He quickly filled her in on what they knew.

Although clearly horrified, Hermione still retained her rationality. "But there's no actual proof that she's harmed another student?"

"Maybe not," said Ron, "but it's a fact that her parents were supporters of You-Know-Who. So why would she help Harry? What does she get out of it?"

Harry considered this for a moment. "Maybe she wanted me to know that the Stone is at Hogwarts."

"Why?" asked Ron. "And anyway, how would she know that it's here?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, she probably could have figured it out; all she would have needed to do was go to the third-floor corridor and see the three-headed dog to realise that something was being guarded. And maybe she wants me to know because she thinks I might go after it, and get myself killed in the process."

"Or," said Hermione, dropping her voice as they passed a group of Ravenclaw girls, "she could be one of those people who think that because You-Know-Who couldn't kill you when you were a baby, you could be a powerful, Dark wizard in your own right. And she wants to see what you do with that information as a, a test of sorts."

"Well, whatever her motives are, they can't be good," declared Ron as they approached the Great Hall. "And I think we should keep as far away from her as possible."

Hermione nodded in agreement. But although Harry knew what Ron had said made sense, he couldn't help feeling a strange pull towards the enigmatic older girl.

* * *

Lena didn't go to dinner; she was too caught up in her discovery of what exactly was being hidden at Hogwarts to feel hungry.

She couldn't believe that the Philosopher's Stone had never crossed her mind while trying to figure out what Dumbledore was protecting – after all, it was common knowledge that the headmaster was friends with Nicolas Flamel.

She briefly wondered how Potter and his friends had come across Flamel's name, but then she remembered what the girl had said: Hagrid. Obviously, the Hogwarts gamekeeper was the staff member who'd sourced the three-headed dog, and she knew he was friends with Potter, as she'd once seen the boy and his friends leaving Hagrid's hut while coming back from a picnic lunch with Maggie and Rolf. In any case, Lena was glad the three young Gryffindors had known the name, otherwise she might never have figured out what the hidden magical object was.

As she paced up and down a secret passage on the second-floor, Lena's thoughts turned to Quirrell. Obviously, the Philosopher's Stone was a highly desirable object to most people. But to go after it while it was under Dumbledore's protection – well, it was sheer madness. And even if he did get his hands on it, Lena had read enough about the Stone to know it wasn't simple to use: it required very powerful and intricate magic to use its alchemic functions, not to mention creating the Elixir of Life. Was Quirrell really that skilled a wizard?

Lena stopped in her tracks as a thought occurred to her. What if Quirrell was just someone else's pawn – an employee of a more dangerous wizard or witch? The night he had let the troll in, Snape had seemed aware that Quirrell was after the Stone, which, Lena assumed, meant Dumbledore already had suspicions about the DADA professor. So why wouldn't he just deal with Quirrell right from the start?

'Because he thinks there's a bigger fish to catch,' Lena answered her own question. 'And letting Quirrell go on could lead him to whoever his master is. And better the devil you know...'

She leaned against the wall of the passageway, running a hand through her hair. So who was Quirrell working for? But as soon as she asked herself the question, the obvious answer occurred to her.

A powerful, dangerous wizard who Dumbledore would be eager to find. One who would desperately want to get his hands on the Elixir of Life.

Lena took a deep, shuddering breath. 'Of course,' she thought. 'Who else would it be?'

And now Quirrell's fascination with her made sense. She was the child of his master's most loyal followers. Perhaps he had even asked Quirrell to report back to him any information he could gather regarding his former pupil...

She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. A sick feeling took over her stomach as thoughts of Lord Voldemort engulfed her mind.

 _Friday 10 July, 1981:_

 _Lena's protective mental barriers barely lasted three seconds before Voldemort overcame them. The familiar presence took over her mind, and for a few seconds, Lena was completely powerless. Then she felt him withdraw._

 _She scowled down at the floor, annoyed with herself. She wasn't progressing anywhere near as fast she wanted to be in her Occlumency training._

 _Voldemort chuckled, and Lena couldn't help but glare at him when she looked up. But this only seemed to amuse her teacher more._

 _"Don't be so harsh on yourself," he gently chided her once his laughter had subsided. "As I've told you from the beginning, Occlumency is an advanced form of magic. It takes time to become proficient."_

 _"I've had ten months," she grumbled. "And I still can't block you out for more than a few seconds."_

 _Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "You are five years old, Lena," he pointed out. "That you can withstand my attacks for any amount of time at all is more than impressive."_

 _Lena gave him a withering look. "Most five year olds are idiots. Your comparison is hardly flattering."_

 _"Does my praise really count for so little with you?"_

 _"I'd rather you tell me what I was doing wrong."_

 _"Fine. You need to be about ten years older," he said flatly._

 _Lena glowered at him. "Anything a little more achievable than that?"_

 _Voldemort sighed, and leaned back on his hands. "You're a child, Lena," he said patiently. "A very young child whose brain is still developing. Yes, you have an extraordinary amount of focus that allows you to accomplish things that most children could never dream of, but you have to recognise your physical limitations."_

 _Lena looked down, and absentmindedly drew patterns on the carpet with her finger. Finally, in small voice she said, "It's not fair."_

 _"What isn't?"_

 _She looked back up at him with a miserable expression. "That I can't do things no matter how hard I try, just because I'm young."_

 _For a moment, Voldemort regarded his small pupil with a softness that nobody else would have thought him capable. He moved closer to Lena. "I know it's frustrating. But you must realise that you're still achieving incredible things."_

 _Lena bit her lip, then hesitantly held out her right hand so the palm was facing up. She shut her eyes and screwed up her face in concentration. A second later, a small blue flame flickered to life in her hand. She opened her eyes and watched the flame._

 _Voldemort smiled at her. "Exactly. And you learnt how to do that when you were only four-"_

 _He abruptly stopped as Lena cupped her left hand over the flame. She held it there for a few moments, before removing it. The flame was now a small ball of blue fire. She extended it to Voldemort, who after a moment's hesitation, reached out and took it from her. He examined it for a moment._

 _"I never taught you how to do that," he murmured._

 _Lena shrugged. "I figured it out a few weeks ago while I was practicing. I've been using it as a reading light at night."_

 _Voldemort passed the fireball back to her, and she closed her fist around it, extinguishing it. She then began to twist a lock of her long hair around her fingers, a gesture with which Voldemort was familiar._

 _"I know I can do lots of things other children my age can't do," she said quietly, staring down at her lap. "I know I can even do things that some adult wizards and witches can't do." She let go of her hair, and met Voldemort's gaze. "But that doesn't mean I can't want to do more." She paused. "I just want to be_ better _."_

 _At first, Voldemort simply gazed back at the young girl. He suddenly reached out his hand, then paused. For a moment his hand hung in mid-air. Then slowly, his hand moved towards Lena's face, and gently pushed the lock of hair she'd been playing with back behind her ear._

 _His voice was barely more than a whisper. "And that's why I'm here. To help you be better than anyone else. And you are in no way disappointing me."_

 _"Even though I'm rubbish at Occlumency?"_

 _He smiled wryly. "You're not rubbish at Occlumency. I just happen to be very, very good at Legilimency. And the fact you haven't mastered it yet doesn't disappoint me."_

 _"But I'm-"_

 _"Lena."_

 _The girl paused, and looked at her teacher. He was gazing at her intently._

 _"I mean it," he said. "I don't believe you could ever disappoint me."_

 _Lena didn't know why, but Voldemort's words made her heart feel strange – it felt like it was swelling, and there was a sudden warmth inside her she wasn't used to. Unsure of the sensation, she pushed it away, and simply returned the smile her teacher was giving her._

 _"I forgot to ask," said Voldemort suddenly. "How was the funeral?"_

 _Druella Black, Lena's maternal grandmother, had passed away the previous week, and the funeral had been held yesterday. It was the first funeral Lena had attended._

 _She shrugged in reply._ _"It was fine. I mean, it's not like we were close, anyway," she muttered._

 _It was true: Lena had never felt any particular kinship with Druella, and as far she could remember, her grandmother had never done anything to remedy that._

 _"Aunt Narcissa cried, though," continued Lena. "She was really upset. And then at the, the thing after, she-"_

 _"The wake?"_

 _"Yes, that. She and Mother got into an argument about their other sister, what's her name..." she racked her brain. "Um... Andromeda, that's it."_

 _Lena only found out her mother had another sister last week, after the news of Druella's passing. All she knew was that her Aunt Andromeda had married a muggle-born (or a "filthy mudblood", as her mother had described him) straight out of Hogwarts, and that the rest of the family hadn't talked to her since._

 _Another question, however, had been plaguing Lena since her grandmother's death – one she wanted Voldemort's opinion on._

 _She cleared her throat. "Sir?" she asked._

 _"Yes?"_

 _"I was wondering," said Lena carefully, "what do you think happens after we die?"_

 _It was clear Voldemort had not been expecting this question. He stared at Lena, a strange expression on his face._

 _Worried about his reaction, Lena quickly added, "Because I know some people come back as ghosts, but most don't. So where do they go?"_

 _Voldemort stared at her for a few moments longer, his face oddly tight. It made Lena feel nervous, something she wasn't used to when she was around Voldemort._

 _To Lena's surprise, he ran a hand through his slicked back hair, a gesture she'd never seen him do before._

 _"The honest answer," he said, "is that I do not know."_

 _Lena waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she persisted. "But surely you have a theory-"_

 _"It is unimportant," interrupted Voldemort . "And unnecessary for you to dwell upon it." His voice was cold, something Lena wasn't used to hearing during her lessons. She couldn't help shrinking back slightly. But Voldemort noticed her reaction, and his expression softened. "You need not concern yourself with the matter, Lena," he said softly. "Focus on your life, not your death."_

 _But Lena wasn't prepared to give up the issue yet. "But isn't death the one thing that's a certainty in our lives?" she countered. "So why do we know so little about it?"_

 _Voldemort paused, before replying quietly, "It doesn't have to be."_

 _Lena furrowed her brow. "What do you-"_

 _"There are ways around it."_

 _"Around death?' retorted Lena, sceptical._

 _Voldemort smirked. "For very powerful wizards, such as myself." He momentarily paused, regarding Lena with an odd look. "And perhaps for you, too."_

 _Lena didn't know how to respond. Voldemort's words swirled around her head. After a short while, she was able to form words again. "When could I start-"_

 _Voldemort interrupted her with a chuckle, and answered her unfinished question. "When you are much older," he told her, firmly but not unkindly._

 _Lena scowled at him. "Is there_ anything _I can do_ now _?" she asked, unable to keep a degree of bitterness out of her voice._

 _Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "You could keep practising Occlumency," he said lightly. This prompted Lena to give him an even dirtier look, but this only made him chuckle again._

 _However, as he watched his student concentrating on her mental defences, and even as he prepared to break through them, there was an unmistakable fondness in his eyes._

Lena rested her head back against the passageway wall, breathing heavily. After her conversation with Newt on Christmas Eve, she had been able to put her thoughts of Voldemort aside with a reasonable degree of success. But now, the memories of her lessons flooded back. This time, however, she didn't try to push them away.

She had never thought Voldemort was dead. But she hadn't been sure if he would resurface again during her lifetime. After his downfall, she had remembered what he had said: _"There are ways around it"_. So Lena had researched the possibilities of immortality, initially not finding any answers. It hadn't been until that first time Aunt Valeriya had taken her to Mykonos and she had met Markellos that she first discovered Horcruxes. Once she'd understood the basic principle behind them, she'd immediately decided that was what Voldemort had spoken of – after all, murdering others to prolong his own life was very much the Dark Lord's style.

'But it mustn't have worked how he'd hoped it would,' thought Lena. 'Whatever happened with the Potters, he survived but was left... what? Powerless? Too weak to continue the War?'

Briefly, she wondered in what state the Boy-Who-Lived had left his parents' killer. Did he still have a physical form? Or was he more like a ghost?

That was why Voldemort wanted the Philosopher's Stone, Lena understood – he thought the Elixir of Life could return him to his full strength. And then he would rise again.

A mixture of emotions crashed like a tidal wave over Lena, leaving her unsure how she felt about the possible return of Lord Voldemort. She took a deep breath, and shoved the emotions aside as she stood back up. She figured that if she went back to the Slytherin Dungeon now, she could get there before the rest of her housemates and make her way to her and Maggie's dormitory undisturbed.

Lena was walking along the first-floor corridor when she abruptly halted. She was just a few feet away from the unused classroom that held the Mirror of Erised. Unconsciously, she moved closer to the door.

Since returning to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays, Lena had not gone back to the room, not wishing to repeat the experience she'd had prior to the break. But now, a sudden desire overwhelmed her – a desire to see Voldemort as he was now. Before she realised what she was doing, her hand was on the doorknob.

However, as she started to turn it, she paused, unsure of herself. Just seeing _him_ in the Mirror last time had been enough to make her sick. What if this time she saw something worse? What if-

'No,' she told herself, not allowing her next thought to finish. 'You grew up. You know better now. That's not who you are.'

Before Voldemort's downfall that fateful Halloween night over ten years ago, the only future Lena could see for herself was one with her beloved teacher in it. A future in which they worked together to push the boundaries of magic further than anyone ever had. In the weeks following his fall, Lena had desperately waited for Voldemort to return, certain that he wasn't dead, like many others were saying. But he didn't come back, and Aunt Valeriya became her new mentor and opened up Lena's mind to new perspectives, possibilities, opportunities. But most of all, her new life had made her reflect back on Voldemort, and her relationship with him. And these reflections had concluded by creating an internal conflict in Lena that years later she still couldn't resolve.

'Enough,' Lena scolded herself. 'Just go in, and look in the Mirror. Either you can handle what you see, or you can't – but you won't find out until you just do the bloody thing.'

Determined in her course of action, she was about to turn the doorknob when she remembered how dark it had been in the classroom the last time. Reaching into her robe to grab her wand, she stopped as an odd urge overtook her. Instead of taking her wand, she held out her hand, palm facing upwards, and concentrated hard. It had been a while since she had done this, but after about seven or eight seconds, a blue flame appeared in her hand. She shaped it into the glowing ball she used to use as a reading light. Satisfied with it, she held it out in front of her as she opened the door, and stepped through into the classroom.

The fireball illuminated the room well enough that Lena didn't have to strain her eyes to see. Calming herself with a deep breath, she looked in the direction of Mirror.

This time, what she saw made her frown – but not because of what was in the reflection.

For there was no reflection to see.

The Mirror of Erised was gone.

* * *

 **Hope you liked it :) I'd really appreciate it if I could get some more reviews, just so I know what parts of the story people find most interesting; for example, should there be more or less flashbacks, or more classroom scenes, or more with Maggie and Rolf? And are there any characters you'd like to see Lena interact with that she hasn't yet, or more with who she already has? Constructive criticism is always great.**


	9. Reflections

**Firstly, I want to say a big thank you to rosebaby123, Love Remedy, Clara, and TheWeightofUs for their wonderful reviews :) I also had a Guest review who brought up some interesting points, which I've addressed in a (long) note at the end of this chapter. And of course, more reviews would be great and very much appreciated :)  
**

 **So, onwards to Chapter 9!**

* * *

 _Sunday 8 March, 1992:_

When Rolf first became friends with Lena Lestrange, he fell a little bit in love with her.

Of course, that didn't mean he found her any less scary. Even at not-quite-fourteen, Lena was an intimidating figure, in both her appearance and her personality. She had been taller than Rolf back then, and had a way of looking at people as if they were much smaller than they actually were.

Even now, just after turning sixteen, Rolf could still feel intimidated by Lena. It wasn't ever her intention, he understood, to make him and Maggie feel inferior to her, but it was unavoidable. After all, she was brilliant.

Now, as they sat outside in their usual spot on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Rolf nervously watched Lena read through his Charms essay draft, and scribble her corrections and comments on it. Lena reviewing his and Maggie's work was still a fairly new development in their friendship, and it always put Rolf on edge, as he desperately hoped that Lena wouldn't think he was an idiot. Maggie sat nearby them, practising Vanishing mice. He could see that she too was eager for Lena's approval, glancing every now and again at their friend with an anxious expression. But Lena's focus was on Rolf's homework.

Her brow was furrowed, and when she wasn't using it to write, she absentmindedly twirled her quill in her fingers. Rolf interestedly noted it was the same motion she usually used with her hair when she was deep in thought. That was one of the many things Rolf had observed about Lena over the last couple of years.

The first time Rolf had properly met Lena had been early in their Third Year. Although, wasn't Lena who he had first spoke to, but Mortimer. Rolf had been looking for a book in the library when, to his surprise, he'd found the bowtruckle behind one of the books he'd pulled out from a shelf.

Being the grandson of Newt Scamander, Rolf had come across many bowtruckles before then, but it was still an unusual sight to see one in the Hogwarts library. Mortimer also clearly hadn't been expecting anyone to see him, and had frozen in shock. But, being the aspiring magizoologist he was, Rolf's surprise had given way to delight.

 _"Hello there," whispered Rolf. "How'd you get in here?"_

 _The small green creature, which had backed itself up against the back of the shelf, stared back at him. It seemed afraid._

 _Rolf spoke to it in the calm, reassuring voice his grandfather used to speak to creatures. "Don't worry, little guy, I'm not going to hurt you." He slowly stretched out his hand to the bowtruckle, who after a moment, hesitantly moved towards it._

 _"You must be pretty lost to be in here," continued Rolf softly. "But I can take you back outside."_

 _"You don't need to do that," said a voice to Rolf's left._

 _Startled, Rolf quickly turned his head to the side and saw the girl he knew to be Lena Lestrange standing a few feet away from him. For a brief moment, he marvelled at how stealthily she had appeared. Then fear washed over him._

 _Not long after he'd began First Year, a Sixth Year Slytherin girl had been removed from the school after being cursed or poisoned. Within a day, a rumour had made its way all around Hogwarts that her attacker had been Lestrange. It couldn't have been an unfounded rumour, because everybody knew the teachers had questioned her over it. But she was never found guilty of it. And the Sixth Year never returned._

 _Since then, she'd been suspected, among other things, of putting two Fourth Year Gryffindor boys in the Hospital wing for a week with a case of non-stop vomiting, changing a Seventh Year Ravenclaw girl's nose into a pig snout, removing all the hair off one of the boys with whom Rolf shared a dorm, and locking a group of Third Year Ravenclaw girls in a broom closet for an entire day. And she'd escaped punishment for all of them._

 _And then there was the matter of who her parents were..._

 _But right now, it was Lestrange's eyes that were scaring Rolf the most. They were icy, to the point that he almost shivered under her gaze._

 _Rolf gulped. "I... I j-just..." he began to stammer, but Lestrange cut him off._

 _"Well,_ just _don't," she said in a quiet, cold voice. Suddenly, her hand shot forward, and Rolf stumbled back in fright, thinking she was about to curse him. Then he realised her wand wasn't in her hand – she was simply holding her hand out for the bowtruckle, who clambered on to it. Lestrange eyed Rolf strangely, and her mouth twitched. It took a few seconds for Rolf to realise she was amused. His face flushed red in embarrassment._

 _Lestrange slipped the bowtruckle into her robe pocket, and began to walk away. But a question had entered Rolf's mind, and before he could stop himself, he heard himself calling out to Lestrange._

 _"You have a pet bowtruckle?"_

 _Lestrange stopped, and slowly turned back around to face him. She raised an eyebrow."Excuse me?"_

 _Rolf swallowed hard, internally cursing himself. He'd just escaped a confrontation with Lestrange, why in Merlin's name had he opened his big mouth and drawn attention back to himself?_

 _"He's," began Rolf, his voice slightly shaking, "he's not... not from the Forest, is he? He's yours."_

 _Before Rolf could properly register what had happened, Lestrange was suddenly right in front of him, wand in her hand. "And why," she whispered, her face mere inches away from his, "would that be any concern of yours?"_

 _Trembling, Rolf shrunk back against the shelf. He didn't want to say anything else, but Lestrange was clearly waiting for an answer._

 _"I, I d-didn't th-think students were al-llowed to keep b-bowtruckles as p-pets," stuttered Rolf._

 _Lestrange slammed her hand that wasn't carrying her wand against the shelf right next to where Rolf's head was, and moved even closer to him, effectively pinning him to the spot._

 _"What are you going to do?" Her voice was a gentle murmur, but her icy eyes carried a threat in them that made Rolf feel acutely aware of the danger he was in. "Tell a teacher? Try and get me into trouble?"_

 _Vigorously, Rolf shook his head, too terrified to reply out loud._

 _"No?" continued Lestrange in the same soft, dangerous voice. "You won't?"_

 _Again, Rolf shook his head. "N-no, I promise!" he choked out._

 _Lestrange stared at him for a moment longer, before a small, twisted smile graced her face. "Well, if you're so sure you won't tell anyone-"_

 _This time, Rolf nodded emphatically._

 _"-Then I suppose it won't matter if I modify your memory. Just to be sure."_

 _Panic rolled over Rolf. "What?!" he yelped. "You can't-"_

 _He halted his protestation as he felt Lestrange's wand resting against his temple._

 _She leaned down, bringing her face even closer, and for a wild moment Rolf thought she was going to kiss him. But then she moved her mouth around to the side of his face, so it was less than an inch away from his ear._

 _"Can't what?" breathed Lestrange, and Rolf shivered._

 _"Please," he begged, close to tears, "please don't. I would never tell, I, I... I like bowtruckles," he babbled desperately. "I would keep one as a pet if I could, my grandfather used to keep a heap of them, and I think the rules about what we can keep as pets at Hogwarts are dumb anyway, I'd love to have some creatures other than owls and cats and toads around, and I think it's really cool that your pet is a bowtruckle-"_

 _"He's not a pet."_

 _Rolf's rambling came to an abrupt end. Lestrange had leant back, and was watching him with a curious expression._

 _"Your last name is Scamander, isn't it?" she said unexpectedly._

 _Rolf was taken aback at the swift change of topic._

 _"Erm... yes?" he replied, hesitant._

 _Lestrange nodded, still surveying him with unusual interest. "I remember from the Sorting," she explained distractedly. "You're related to Newt Scamander, I take it?" Her tone had become oddly pleasant._

 _Wary of this sudden change of disposition, Rolf answered cautiously, "He's my grandfather." He paused, before adding, "Why do you ask?"_

 _Lestrange cocked her head, as if confused that he needed to ask. "Because he's brilliant. I mean, his work in the field of magical creatures is... well, it's unparalleled."_

 _"Erm..." Rolf struggled to find an appropriate response. "Er, yes. He, he is pretty... brilliant."_

 _"Are you close?"_

 _Beginning to feel more flustered than frightened now, Rolf nodded. "Yeah. Yes, we see a lot of each other."_

 _"And you like bowtruckles?"_

 _Slightly thrown by the next change of the conversation's direction, Rolf nevertheless nodded again. "Yeah, I do," he said. "They're pretty cool." Feeling slightly more confident that Lestrange wasn't about to horribly curse him, he asked, "How did you come to own– I mean," he hurriedly interrupted himself, "how did you meet this little guy?" He gestured to her robe pocket, out of which the bowtruckle was curiously watching him._

 _Lestrange eyed Rolf with a thoughtful expression for a moment, before slowly reaching into her pocket and taking the little creature out. She held her hand out in front of her, the bowtruckle sitting down in the centre of her palm._

 _"His name's Mortimer," she said quietly, looking down at the small, green being. "I found him in a stall in Knockturn Alley this last summer, trapped in a glass tank. He looked so..." She broke off._

 _As she'd been speaking, Rolf had noticed that Lestrange's eyes, so icy and menacing just a mere minute ago, had in some way softened. Now, Rolf could see something that seemed very much like kindness, or perhaps compassion, in them._

 _Evidently, Lestrange was also concerned that she'd just allowed herself to display too much sentimentality, and some of that prior hardness returned to her expression._

 _She cleared her throat. "Well, I wasn't going to leave him in there."_

 _"So you nicked him?"_

 _"I liberated him," she corrected Rolf with an indignant sniff. "And he chose to stay with me, rather than venturing out on his own." She put the bowtruckle, Mortimer, back inside her pocket._

 _Rolf nodded slowly, thoughtful. It was as though all his previous fear of Lestrange had ebbed away while she told her story. "So he's, like, more of a... companion, then."_

 _There was an imperceptible turning-up of the corners of Lestrange's mouth. "A companion," she agreed. "Yes, that's a good way of putting it."_

So a tentative friendship had begun, although Lena had never used that term – except maybe once or twice ironically – until recently.

When, after that first meeting, Lena kept finding Rolf around Hogwarts and talking to him, intimidated as he had been by her, he had been under no illusions: she was paying attention to him because of who his grandfather was. But Rolf hadn't minded, because he'd always had a fascination with rare, mysterious, and dangerous creatures – and that had been a very apt description of Lena Lestrange. And Rolf was perceptive enough to notice that while it may have been his connection to Newt that first interested Lena, she had quickly grown to like who he was as his own person, and that was why almost two-and-a-half years later he was one of her two closest friends.

But as Lena had begun to start genuinely liking Rolf, he, in turn, had started to notice that she was quite pretty – albeit in a corpse-like sort of way. And she could be quite funny, in a dry, dark sort of way. And she was brilliant at magic, in – well, in practically every way. More than that, she was kind and respectful to creatures that many other wizards and witches were either cruel to or simply not interested in, and she was loyal to and protective of those few people she did care about, to an alarming degree – although she would never admit it out loud. So Rolf couldn't help but fall a little in love with the girl of which he had once been so terrified.

On a couple of occasions he had almost worked up the nerve to tell her how he felt, but he could never bring himself to go through with it. At first, it was because Rolf was too scared of Lena rejecting him – not just as a potential boyfriend, but cutting ties with him altogether. Or he was worried that she would curse him just for having the impertinence to presume that she might ever like him in a more-than-platonic way, and that he could ever consider himself on the same level as her.

And then about year ago, he realised that he was no longer scared of her saying no – he was scared that she might ever say _yes_. Because try as he might, Rolf couldn't actually imagine _being_ in a relationship with Lena.

By that time, he had known Lena well enough to discern that she would see having a boyfriend as a vulnerability. And Lena hated being vulnerable. Rolf was certain that the only way Lena would ever have a romantic relationship with someone was if she was completely and utterly in love with that person – and knew for certain that they felt the same way about her.

Rolf knew he wasn't that guy. So he had accepted it, and moved on. And now, something even better had happened than Lena saying she fancied him too: she had, out loud and without a trace of irony, called him her friend.

Now, as he watched Lena writing her final comment on his draft, he couldn't help but smile a little as he thought about what a good (and useful) friend she was to have.

* * *

 _Thursday 12 March, 1992:_

 _Lena,_

 _I was very glad to receive your letter; I do wish you wrote more often. Surely schoolwork, for someone as advanced as you, doesn't keep you so busy that you don't have time to keep up a regular correspondence with those of us who have been deprived of your company and insight these past five years?_

 _I would inquire further into this renewed interest in the Mirror of Erised, but I suspect if there was anything else you wanted to tell me, you would have included it in your letter. Keep your secrets, dear – I would expect nothing less from the girl raised by Valeriya Dolohov._

 _Now, I'll do my best to try to answer your question – or hypothetical proposition, that might be a better way to put it – but you must remember, I have never personally studied the Mirror. I must draw all my conclusions from written accounts of others who have had the privilege._

 _The idea you put forward to me was very interesting, and I can honestly say one I had never considered myself. But looking back over my research into the Mirror, I think I can say to you that it's a THEORETICAL possibility._

 _Mirrors (as I'm sure you know, but will reiterate just so I'm as clear as I can be) are objects that are highly malleable for magical modification. Of course, anything that can provide a reflection is, but as that is a mirror's sole purpose, they have the most potential._

 _Perhaps you already know some of this. If so, bear with me. The explanation of how this could THEORETICALLY work is coming, I promise you._

 _Instead of thinking of a reflection as being an image, try imagining it's an alternate reality. It exists at the same time as our world, but everything is just that little bit different. And it is precisely this relationship between reality and its reflection that creates – with the right, precise magic – the ability to traverse between the two. Naturally, it is a lot more difficult and dangerous for something that is alive to enter the reflected world; indeed, it's rarely ever been accomplished (I believe only three people in recorded history have ever succeeded crossing into the reflected world and returning). There is, however, a greater success rate in moving objects into reflections (and eventually getting them back out)._

 _But now to deal in your specifics – could someone potentially hide a magical object in the Mirror of Erised, and only allow it to be removed by a specific desire? Well, this is entering the territory of incredibly complex magical theory here – territory, that to be completely honest with you, Lena, in which I am not really an expert (I don't even know if there is_ _anyone_ _who can claim to be an expert in this field). Essentially, we're dealing with unchartered waters here. But here's what I can tell you: the Mirror contains a reflected world. Yes, it's one that has been significantly modified by magic, but it exists nonetheless. So let us cross that inter-dimensional bridge and say an object can be hidden in there. Now, let us address the second part of your proposal. The purpose of the Mirror is to_ _show_ _a person's deepest desire, not to give them it. HOWEVER – it is, as you know, easier to manipulate existing magic than to create it from nothing. So if the triggering desire was specific to the object, and not about using the object but instead retrieving it, or perhaps preventing it from being used, the Mirror might find the differentiation between_ _showing_ _and_ _giving_ _a little more difficult. And of course, this hypothetical magical object is something that is actually real, not a magical projection, which I imagine is an important distinction._

 _Does that make sense? If anything doesn't, please write back for elaboration and I will do my best to give it to you (actually, just write back anyway: I've been researching some other things that might interest you, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on them)._

 _Remember, as I have emphasised several times before in this letter, this is all purely THEORETICAL. These are not facts, simply guesses based upon the more concrete research and evidence of others._

 _I hope to hear from you again soon, especially if you have another query as interesting as this one – I admit I actually quite enjoyed myself, trying to formulate a conclusion for it._

 _Best Wishes,_

 _Hedda Nygård_

 _P.S. I understand that Fifth Years at Hogwarts sit some very important exams at the end of their school year. I would be extremely surprised if you needed it, but I'd like to wish you the best of luck for them anyway!_

Lena finished reading the letter, a weight lifting from her shoulders. 'It's safe, then,' she thought to herself, relieved. "Quirrell won't be able to get the Stone."

She was sitting in the corridor outside the History of Magic classroom. There was still almost half-an-hour before class – most students were still eating breakfast in the Great Hall. Lena had just been finishing hers when an owl flew down, delivering her the letter she'd been waiting to receive for about two weeks.

After Lena had found the Mirror of Erised was no longer in the unused classroom on the first-floor, she became fixated on discovering what had happened to it. For almost a week she searched the Hogwarts Castle, but had no luck in locating the Mirror. Finally, it occurred to her that maybe the Mirror's original unexpected appearance and its subsequent vanishing might have had something to do with the other important magical object currently at Hogwarts – the Philosopher's Stone. It took Lena another week to come up with a logical reason for the connection.

Over the years, she had come across several references to powerful wizards and witches' hiding – or in some cases, trapping – objects in mirrors. However, it was such an under-researched area of magic that when Lena came up with her theory of the Mirror being used as a final safeguard against anyone intending to steal and use the stone, she had written to Hedda Nygård (the Norwegian witch who had first told Lena about the Mirror of Erised) in the hope of confirmation. And the combination of Hedda's belief that it was possible, and the fact that Dumbledore was an exceptionally brilliant and innovative wizard, was pretty much all Lena needed to believe that she was right.

Closing her eyes, Lena sighed and leaned her back to rest it against the wall. She had been constantly telling herself this past month that she didn't want Quirrell to retrieve the Stone for Voldemort. But somewhere at the back of her mind, and deep down in her heart, she couldn't stop wondering about what it would be like to have a fully restored Lord Voldemort back. And not just back in the Wizarding world, but back in her life.

'Would he still look the same?' wondered Lena. ' _Be_ the same?' But those were not the questions that plagued her the most. There was one thing above all she wanted to know.

Would Voldemort still feel the same way about Lena that he had all those years ago?

Her memories of him were as clear as though they'd only happened yesterday. She could see him brushing her hair back off her face, feel him breaking through the weak barrier around her mind, and hear him telling her that he would be proud to be her father. She twisted her hands in her lap, remembering how on that last day he had held them in his pale, long-fingered hand. And she had so desperately waited for him to come back...

Then she remembered hearing other wizards and witches talking about all the innocent people he'd murdered, and the atrocities the Death Eaters had committed in his name. And she thought about how the man she had cared more about than anyone had caused so much pain and suffering, and for a second she thought she was going to throw up.

Lena took a few deep breaths, and the sudden wave of nausea passed. She opened her eyes and folded the letter, putting it in the pocket of her robe.

'Well, you don't have to think about _him_ returning now,' she told herself. 'Because unless someone does something incredibly stupid, there's no way Quirrell is getting the Stone out of that mirror.'

* * *

 _Friday 5 June, 1992:_

"Potter did what?!"

Lena stared in disbelief at a house-elf named Tizzy. She was sitting in the kitchens, having just concluded her Ancient Runes OWL. However, the cup of tea and plate of muffins that the elves had prepared for her lay practically untouched.

Tizzy nodded her head vigorously. "Harry Potter stopped the bad Professor Quirrell from stealing the Philosopher's Stone!" the elf whispered, clearly awed. "And now, the bad Professor is dead!"

Lena's head spun. Unable to formulate a coherent sentence, she instead opted to take a sip of tea. She did so, and immediately grimaced. It had gone cold.

Another elf, called Momo, upon seeing Lena's reaction to the tea, whisked it away before Lena could say anything, and quickly prepared another.

"So," began Lena slowly, as Momo brought the new mug over, "you definitely heard this all from McGonagall? You're not exaggerating anything of this?"

Tizzy looked hurt. "Tizzy swears this is all true, Miss Lena! Tizzy would never lie to Miss Lena!" she cried.

"I know," said Lena hastily, reaching over to reassuringly pat Tizzy's hand. "I know you wouldn't lie, Tizzy. It's just all..." she took a deep breath, "a lot to take in." She took a small sip of the tea Momo was offering her, and smiled. It was piping hot.

Mollified, Tizzy nodded, her big blue eyes wide. "Harry Potter must truly be a great wizard," she said.

Lena elected to take a bite of one of the muffins instead of replying, and tried to get her head around everything Tizzy had told her that afternoon.

She hadn't noticed anything unusual that morning, too caught up in helping Maggie with last-minute preparations for their exam. After finishing the OWL exam, Maggie had gone back to their dorm for a nap (having woken up that morning far earlier than to her liking), whilst Lena had gone to the kitchens for a snack, to find it in a buzz of excitement. After inquiring why this was so, there had been a brief argument between the house-elves over who got to share the exciting story with 'Miss Lena'. In the end, Tizzy had won, as she had been the one to overhear McGonagall talking to Professor Sprout in the staffroom.

Apparently, the previous night had seen Quirrell go through the trapdoor and get past the teachers' obstacles – with the exception of the Mirror – in order to steal the Stone. But Potter and his two friends (young Weasley and the bushy-haired girl, who was named, Lena had just learnt, Hermione Granger) had somehow known about Quirrell's intentions, and had followed him down, also getting past the obstacles. Eventually, Quirrell and Potter had come to face, Potter had somehow got the Stone out of the Mirror of Erised, and the resulting fight (or whatever it was – according to Tizzy, McGonagall hadn't been particularly specific about that part) had ended in Quirrell's death, and an unconscious Potter, who since then had remained in that state in the Hospital Wing.

All in all, quite an exciting tale – but one with too many gaps for Lena's liking.

Frowning, she asked Tizzy, "And McGonagall didn't mention a specific cause of death for Quirrell? Or if it was an accident, or if Potter intended to kill him?"

Lena was surprised when Tizzy looked around furtively. Seemingly content that all the other elves were busy with other tasks and not listening to their conversation, she leaned across the table at which that they were sitting.

"Well, Miss Lena," the house-elf whispered conspiratorially, "the truth is, Tizzy did not tell all the other house-elves what she heard Professor McGonagall say to Professor Sprout."

Lena raised an eyebrow. It wasn't like the Hogwarts house-elves to keep secrets from each other. "Why not, Tizzy?"

Tizzy looked around the kitchens again. Once she was confident they wouldn't be overheard, she said in a low voice, "Because Tizzy does not want to cause a panic, Miss Lena. But," the elf gazed up at Lena, concern filling her big eyes, "Tizzy wants Miss Lena to know. "

Her curiosity piqued, Lena leaned in so her face was only inches away from Tizzy. "What did you hear?" she murmured.

Tizzy took a deep breath. "Professor McGonagall said," she whispered, "that Professor Dumbledore told her that the bad Professor Quirrell was being possessed by... _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"_

For a long moment, it was as though time had stopped for Lena. Her entire body went rigid, and her heart seemed to have stopped. Then one of the house-elves dropped a saucepan, and the crash jolted Lena back to the present.

Her mouth was dry, but Lena's quiet voice was full of urgency. "Possessed? Do you mean, as in he was co-inhabiting _Quirrell's body?"_

Tizzy gazed back at her, and Lena realised it wasn't just concern in the house-elf's eyes, but _fear_.

"Miss Lena," whispered Tizzy, "Professor Dumbledore said he thinks that _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ was at Hogwarts _the whole year_!"

Lena stared at Tizzy, frozen.

The house-elf appeared to realise that Lena's reaction to this was more than just mere shock or fright. "Miss Lena?" she asked, worried. "Are you-"

"And has he gone?" Lena's voice sounded distant to her own ears, as if she was no longer in the kitchens, but listening from outside.

Tizzy blinked, and continued to peer at Lena anxiously. "Professor Dumbledore says he left last night, after..." she paused for a moment, "after Quirrell died. He fled, Miss Lena," the elf finished quietly.

Lena didn't reply. She just stared at the wall behind Tizzy, completely still.

Hesitantly, Tizzy ventured, "Miss Lena?Are you all right?"

For a few seconds, she didn't react. Then slowly, Lena's gaze drifted to Tizzy.

"Yes, thank you, Tizzy," she responded, polite, but still distant. "And thank you for telling me... everything." She paused. "But I've wasted enough of your time. I'll let you get back to work."

Although it wasn't phrased as an order, Tizzy took Lena's words as a dismissal. The house-elf nodded, and slipped off the bench. Before she returned to her work, she softly said to Lena, "Tizzy was happy to see Miss Lena today. Tizzy always likes talking to Miss Lena."

Lena smiled at Tizzy, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She watched the elf a moment longer as she joined some other house-elves who were preparing a roast beef, and then Lena, taking a sip of the still-hot tea, allowed herself to be swallowed back up by her thoughts.

He had been there. The whole year. The whole, _fucking_ year. At some times, literally only _metres_ away from her. And not once had he let her know.

Lena took a violent gulp of tea, not caring if it burned her mouth. The hand not holding the mug clenched the edge of the table tightly, her knuckles going white.

Did that mean he had been able to see her? Had he used Quirrell's eyes to take at least one proper look at his old pupil? Lena swallowed another mouthful of tea, and dug her nails into the table even harder. 'Was that why he was always looking at me?' she asked herself. 'Because it was Voldemort who was looking at me?'

She released her grip on the table and quickly drank the rest of the tea. Distractedly, she said goodbye to the house-elves, and left the kitchen, no idea of where she was heading. In her head, she replayed every interaction she'd had with Quirrell that year, until she found herself standing in front of a door. It took a moment for her to realise it was the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Without thinking, she turned the handle and opened the door.

The classroom was empty. She stared at the teacher's desk, and after closing the door behind her, automatically moved towards it. Reaching it, she leaned against it, and closed her eyes.

Lena felt a vague sense of surprise that she hadn't thrown up. She didn't even feel a little bit nauseous. Nor did she feel the urge to cry. Instead, something else was building up inside of her, expanding until it filled every fibre of her soul and body.

She didn't notice the desks and chairs behind her beginning to rise up off the ground, or how the windows were beginning to crack.

But if somebody had passed the DADA classroom in those following minutes, they surely would have noticed the sound of unreserved destruction coming from inside the room.

* * *

 **Well, that brings us to the conclusion of the _Philosopher's Stone_ section of the story. Next chapter, we move to the beginning of the _Chamber of Secrets'_ part of _To Be Human_. **

**So after finishing Chapter 8, I had a Guest review for Chapter 5, and although I don't know if that Guest is still reading, I thought they brought up some valid points of contention, which I'd like to address, because it's possible other people were wondering about this sort of stuff. So:**

 **It's important to remember when reading (and for me, writing) this story that in canon (as far as I know), until the end of the fifth book, we don't see any children of** **convicted** **Death Eaters attending Hogwarts. The Malfoys, for instance, are still respected in the wider Wizarding community until Lucius' capture and arrest at the Ministry, but up until that point, Draco isn't really seen at Hogwarts as the son of a Death Eater, but as a child from a powerful and influential family.**

 **But when Lena arrived at Hogwarts in 1987, the older students would have been about 10 or 11 by the end of the War – old enough, then, to recall any of the news reports about the Death Eater trials. In GoF, Sirius says the discovery that Barty Crouch Jr. was a Death Eater caused a big scandal. Presumably, then, much of the public would have known what he and the Lestranges were caught doing.**

 **In my mind, Lena was the first child of a convicted Death Eaters to attend Hogwarts since the end of the War, and it would have been a fair assumption for people to make that she would share her parents' views, as canon shows us that it is more common than not for the value of blood purity to be passed from generation to generation.**

 **Now, we know Lena doesn't share her parents' views, and that she in fact hated Bellatrix and Rodolphus. But Lena never openly stated that when she arrived at Hogwarts. As you can see from her conversation with Draco, she still doesn't – instead of chastising him for calling Maggie a 'mudblood', she makes it appear that she is punishing him for** ** _daring to_** ** _question_** **her choice of associates.**

 **Between the end of the War and her arrival at Hogwarts, nobody really knew where Lena had been, or what she'd been doing. So when she turns up, teachers like McGonagall are wary of her simply because for all they know, she had spent the last five-and-a-half years being indoctrinated with blood supremacist ideologies and how to use the Dark Arts. So the teachers are waiting to see whether this is correct or not. And then within three weeks of beginning Hogwarts, Lena is linked to what appears to be an act of very Dark magic, and this easily lines up with the idea of Lena following in her parents' footsteps.**

 **Meanwhile, the older students who remember hearing about Lena's parents and already associate her with them, tell the younger students who wouldn't remember about the Lestranges. And those younger students in turn tell the students younger than them when they arrive, and so on, until even students like Harry and Ron who were babies at the end of the War know who the Lestranges were, and why this means Lena obviously must be such a terrible person.**

 **The Slytherins , on the other hand, tend to dislike her because despite being a member of their house, Lena basically rejects her housemates. Instead of forming connections with the students whose families are less covert about their blood purist values, she sort-of-befriends Maggie, a girl without any known Wizarding connections. And then she is suspected of attacking a member of her own house. So while most Slytherins won't openly antagonise Lena because they're afraid of her, they don't pretend to be her biggest fan. For the Slytherins, Lena's a bit like a monster they're watching tear apart other creatures (i.e. students from other houses), but they also know that at anytime, she could turn on them, and they would be, to put it simply, totally fucked.**

 **Snape has another two reasons for disliking Lena which are at the same time similar and different to the general reasons. Firstly, the 'Spinner's End' chapter in HBP makes it seem like Snape and Bellatrix never got on, which is believable considering that Snape was a half-blood and Bellatrix viewed anything less than a pureblood with contempt. So Snape has difficulty getting past that with Lena, just as he can't really separate Harry from James. And secondly, Snape knows Voldemort had some sort of relationship with Lena – he doesn't know the exact nature of it, but he suspects that Lena was a sort of protégée of Voldemort's, and that there was a certain degree of affection on both sides. And Voldemort killed the woman Snape loved, so the fact that Lena had a bond with him allows Snape to project some of that anger and hatred he would have been harbouring for Voldemort on to Lena.**

 **So in regards to the Guest reviewer's point that "** _This sort of set-up of having one student hated by the school but having a few students on the outcast's side is common in fic... and while it doesn't necessarily feel forced here, it just doesn't quite fit with Lena's background"_ **– I hope what I've written here justifies why I made the decisions I have surrounding the perceptions of Lena, and her relationships with others.**

 **If any of that doesn't make sense, or people still have questions about the choices I've made, please do ask. As I've hopefully shown here, I do put serious thought into these decisions, and I'm more than happy to share my reasoning. And it's good to know if that sort of stuff isn't coming through clearly in my writing.**

 **Well, that was much longer than I expected it to be. It was a bit rambling, so thank you to anyone who stuck with it :)**


	10. Knockturn Alley

_**The Chamber of Secrets**_ **section begins! Thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed this story; I hope you're enjoying it, and I love hearing any thoughts you have on it :) (And to my Guest reviewer, I have a response for you at the end of the chapter.)  
**

 **Anyhoo, on with the story!**

* * *

 _Wednesday 12 August, 1992:_

Harry exited the shop in which the Floo Network had deposited him and, clutching his broken glasses to his face, stared around. He had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads, and two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were watching him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other. Feeling jumpy, Harry set off, trying to hold his glasses on straight and hoping against hope he'd be able to find a way out of there.

An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help, as Harry has never heard of such a place. He supposed he hadn't spoken clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to do.

"Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him jump.

An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away.

"I'm-"

A voice from behind the old witch cut Harry off. "Not really part of the clientele you're looking for, Agnes."

The old witch flinched, and spun around to face whoever had spoken. Harry shifted slightly in order to see who it was. His eyes widened in surprise as he recognised the speaker.

Standing about ten feet behind the old witch, with her head cocked and her arms crossed, was Lena Lestrange. Her long black hair was in a large, messy knot on the top of her head and, to Harry's surprise, she was dressed in very muggle clothing: tight black jeans and a plain white t-shirt, the bottom of which was pulled to the side and tied up, slightly exposing her midriff. She also appeared to be wearing a dark purple-pink lipstick, and what Harry (as a twelve year-old boy not particularly knowledgeable about makeup) guessed was a lot of eyeliner. Harry thought she wouldn't have looked out of place at a rock concert.

But Lestrange's muggle-like appearance did not make the old witch, Agnes, any less cautious of her. "Ah, Miss Lestrange," said the older woman, in the same sort of oily voice Harry had heard Borgin use with Mr Malfoy just a few minutes previously. "How lovely to see you on this fine day!" She began to edge towards Lestrange. "Perhaps I could interest you-"

"I really doubt that you could," interrupted Lestrange in a bored voice. "Now," she jerked her head in the direction behind herself, "off you fuck." She fixed her eyes on Harry.

Instead of appearing offended, Agnes looked between Lestrange and Harry, shrugged, and scuttled off.

Once the old witch was a fair distance away, Lestrange uncrossed her arms, and stretched her right arm out so she was leaning on one of the shop windows. "So, Potter," she began, practically purring, "what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"

Harry squirmed a little. Lestrange's oddly flirtatious voice made him uncomfortable, partly because she was an older, not entirely unattractive teenage girl and he was a twelve year old boy, but mostly because she was _Lestrange_.

When Harry didn't immediately answer, Lestrange quirked an eyebrow. "Let me guess – you got out at the wrong fireplace?"

"Yeah," replied Harry, taken aback that Lestrange had known.

She saw his confusion, and snorted in amusement. "Somehow, Potter," she said, starting to walk towards him, "I doubt you'd be moronic enough to venture into Knockturn Alley voluntarily, especially on your own. And," she came to a stop about a metre in front of him, "correct me if I'm wrong, but I can't imagine you've much experience in using the Floo."

"First time," mumbled Harry, feeling oddly flushed. He assumed that Lestrange knew he hadn't been raised in a magical family.

"So there should be somebody waiting for you in Diagon Alley?" asked Lestrange.

Harry just nodded, not bothering anymore to question how she could know – or guess – all these things about him. Clearly, she could figure out things a lot more quickly than most people.

Lestrange eyed him wordlessly for a few seconds, before simply saying, "Well, come along then, Potter." And she walked passed him.

Harry stared at her in confusion.

Without stopping or turning around, Lestrange called out to him, "Unless you want to hang around until somebody else comes along and offers to show you the way back to Diagon Alley – but you'll be waiting for quite a while."

Harry stared at a Lestrange's retreating back for a moment longer. Then he made a quick decision and ran after her.

Catching up with her, he fell into stride with Lestrange, who acknowledged his presence with a mere sidelong glance.

As they made their way through the twisting alleyway, a curious Harry couldn't stop himself from asking, "So what are you doing here, then?"

"I live here," answered Lestrange flatly.

Somehow, this didn't surprise Harry much. Although he would have assumed that she lived in some sort of gothic castle or a creepy old mansion, Knockturn Alley also seemed like an appropriate place of residence for Lestrange.

Then Harry remembered something that had been bugging him for about six months. "Lestrange?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"Why did you tell me about Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone?"

Lestrange glanced down at him. "Well, if I recall correctly, because you asked," she said drily.

"Yes, but-"

Lestrange cut him off. "If there's a particular answer you're looking for, Potter, I suggest you find the right question."

Harry paused, before deciding he might as well be blunt. "Okay. Why did you help me if everybody says... if, like everybody says, you're one of Voldemort's supporters, and you're supposed to hate me?"

Lestrange came to an abrupt stop, and faced Harry. She regarded him with an odd expression. Then she said, "The thing about this _everybody_ , Potter, is that they _say_ a lot of things, but actually _know_ very little." She pointed to her right and Harry, following her finger, realised they'd reached Diagon Alley. He looked back at Lestrange when he heard her sigh. She had closed her eyes and was leaning back against the wall of the alley, smoothing back some loose tendrils of hair. Then she opened her eyes, and fixed Harry with a penetrating stare. "In answer to your question, the reason I helped you that day is the same reason why I showed you the way out of Knockturn Alley today. And also the same reason why I'm about to do this." Without warning, she reached a hand out in front of Harry's face and made a few complex gestures. There was a snapping sound and Harry felt his glasses being repaired in his hands.

Gingerly, he ran his hands along the frames. The glasses were as good as new. "Erm, thanks," he muttered. Then what had just happened properly registered with him, and he gaped at Lestrange. "You can do wandless magic?!"

"Yes," was the only reply.

When Harry realised Lestrange wasn't going to say any more on the subject of wandless magic, he returned to their previous topic. "All right then, what's the reason?"

"Tell you what, Potter," said Lestrange, "I'll give you the answer once _you_ can answer _this_ question for me – would you still be asking me all of this if I _wasn't_ in Slytherin?"

"I-" started Harry, but stopped. He looked up at Lestrange, feeling confused.

Lestrange pushed herself away from the wall. "Take your time, Potter," she said. "You can give me your answer when we get back to Hogwarts. Now," she indicated to Diagon Alley with a jerk of her head, "go find your friends." She began to head back the way they had come, and called over her shoulder, "And do try to stay out of trouble, Potter. After all," she gave him a twisted smile, "if anything happened to you, who else would fight Lord Voldemort to save the rest of us?"

Lestrange turned a corner and disappeared from view, but Harry continued to stare into the alleyway, feeling more confused than ever.

'Of course I wasn't wondering why she'd helped me because she was in Slytherin,' he told himself. 'It's because...' He frowned. Because what? She was the daughter of two of Voldemort's followers? But, he realised, if Lestrange's parents had been imprisoned since the end of the War, she couldn't have seen them since she was five or six years old. For all he knew, whoever had raised her since then might have been completely different to them. And anyway, people could turn out quite differently from their families – his mother and Aunt Petunia were clearly evidence of that.

So then it was because of what everybody had said about her attacking all those other students. But as soon as Harry considered that, he remembered what Lestrange had just said. ' _The thing about this_ everybody _, Potter, is that they_ say _a lot of things, but actually_ know _very little.'_ Pretty much everything that Percy had said to him about Lestrange had technically been a rumour – she'd never been found guilty of anything. 'Maybe that's because she _was_ innocent,' thought Harry.

But the Sorting Hat had put her in Slytherin. And, as Hagrid had told him a year ago when he'd first visited Diagon Alley: _'There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.'_ Harry couldn't think of a single Slytherin student that he'd met last year that seemed even remotely pleasant.

Except for maybe Lestrange. The first time he'd ever seen her, hadn't she stopped Neville's bag from falling several floors down, and returned it to him? Helping First Year Gryffindors didn't seem like the mark of an evil witch or wizard, yet Lestrange had done it on more than one occasion the previous year.

Harry sighed. All of this was making his head hurt. Noticing that he was getting strange looks from some of the witches and wizards wandering around Diagon Alley, a it occurred to him that he must have a bit shifty loitering around the entrance to Knockturn Alley. So he turned around and started making his way to Flourish and Blotts. He hadn't gone far when he saw the male Weasleys and Hermione standing near the steps of Gringotts, talking frantically.

It was Hermione who spotted him first. "Harry! Harry! Over here!" she called out. Harry jogged over to them.

"Harry," said a breathless-looking Mr Weasley. "We _hoped_ you'd only gone one grate too far..." He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's frantic – she should be coming now."

"Where did you come out?" asked Ron.

"Hi, Hermione," Harry greeted his other friend, who gave him a relieved smiled. He turned back to Ron and said, "Knockturn Alley."

" _Brilliant!_ " said Fred and George together.

"We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously.

"And with good reason," said Mr Weasley firmly.

Mrs Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other.

"Oh, Harry – oh, my dear – you could have been anywhere–"

Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot that Harry had forgot was all over him.

"Knockturn Alley!" she shrieked when told where Harry had been. "Oh goodness, what if you hadn't found your way out?"

Before Harry realised what he was saying, he told the Weasleys and Hermione, "Actually, _I_ didn't find my way out. I had help from-" he stopped himself, now feeling unsure if he should have mentioned it.

The Weasleys and Hermione were all looking at him curiously.

"Help from who?" asked Ron.

Knowing he didn't really have a choice now, Harry hesitantly replied, "Um, Lena Lestrange."

A look of horror crossed Percy's face. "Lestrange?" he said in a strangled voice.

Fred and George exchanged a look with each other, as did Ron and Hermione, and Mr and Mrs Weasley. Ginny just look baffled.

"What was she doing in Knockturn Alley?" demanded Ron.

"She lives there," said Harry.

"How do you know that?" asked George.

"Because she told me," shrugged Harry. He quickly explain what had happened (leaving out his and Lestrange's conversation) to answer the rest of their questions before they were asked.

Afterwards he finished telling them the story, Mr Weasley said, "Well, the main thing is that you're all right, Harry." But Harry saw him exchange another anxious look with Mrs Weasley. For some reason, this slightly irritated Harry, although he couldn't think why.

It was a day full of incidents and weirdness for Harry. But that night, as he lay in his makeshift bed in Ron's room, it was the image of Lena Lestrange in her muggle clothes, disappearing back into Knockturn Alley that he couldn't shift from his head. And it was only then that he remembered something he'd overlooked earlier that day.

Apart from himself and Dumbledore (and on one occasion, Hagrid), Lestrange was the only person he'd ever heard use Voldemort's name.

* * *

Lena looked up from the book she was reading as she heard the sound of the front door opening and shutting. She glanced over at the clock that hung on her wall. 11:06pm; Valeriya had arrived home earlier than she had expected.

"There's chicken pie in the kitchen," she called out to her aunt. She heard Valeriya make a noise of acknowledgement, and returned to her reading.

She was lying on her bed in her small bedroom. And it was small – only just large enough to hold a single bed about the same length as her body, a bedside table (which was principally used as Mortimer's space), a small wardrobe, a couple of cardboard boxes, and her trunk. This left only a little less than a square metre of floor space. It was a stark contrast to the spacious dormitory she shared with Maggie at Hogwarts.

The flat she and Valeriya lived in only consisted of two small bedrooms, an even smaller bathroom they shared, a small kitchenette, and the space between these rooms and the front door. It was in a block of identical flats at the end of Knockturn Alley that was mostly inhabited by criminals and other members of the Wizarding world who lived on the fringes of their society. It wasn't a particularly neighbourly place, which suited Lena just fine.

Raising herself slightly off her bed, she twisted her back until she heard a satisfying crack, and settled back down. She was reading a muggle book on political philosophy entitled _The Prince_ , by an Italian muggle named Niccolo Machiavelli who'd lived about five hundred years ago . She had purchased it at a muggle bookshop that afternoon, while visiting muggle-London with Maggie and Rolf. It was the first summer the three of them had actually spent any time together, and Lena had to admit it was a welcome change.

Lena twirled her hair as she read, fully absorbed in the text. So far, Machiavelli had instructed her that ' _if an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared'_ ; to _'never attempt to win by force what can be won by deception'_ ; and also that _'since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved'._ Machiavelli went into some depth to explain his reasoning for that last piece of advice.

 _'Love is preserved by the link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage; but fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails.'_

Lena wondered if Voldemort had read this book.

But when she read _'everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are'_ , her encounter with Potter from that morning immediately filled her mind.

It had been so difficult not to ask him what had happened that night in June when he had faced Quirrell and Voldemort. What had Potter seen? And what did Voldemort say to him? She had spent the last two months in an almost constant state of agitation, desperate to know. But instead, she had shown the lost boy the way out of Knockturn Alley, and not asked him a single thing about that night, even when there had been a natural segue into the subject.

He had surprised her with his frankness. But it was Potter's lack of malice towards her that particularly unnerved Lena. Yes, he didn't exactly trust her – although he had been remarkably quick to follow her that morning – but he seemed to be more curious about why she hadn't displayed any open hatred towards him than having any ill-feeling towards her for her association with Voldemort's followers. It was an unusually mature attitude for a twelve year-old boy to have.

'Then again,' thought Lena gloomily, 'it's not like he knows that the man who murdered his parents used to be my favourite person in the whole world.'

She sighed out loud. Merlin, it had been nice to spend the afternoon with Maggie and Rolf – two of the only people with whom she _didn't_ have ridiculously complicated relationships.

But as she finished the chapter she was reading and closed the book, she remembered that even her friendship with Maggie wasn't as straightforward as she was pretending. Because it was very likely that Maggie was a Muggle-born.

Lena stared up at the ceiling, listening as Valeriya finished her dinner and cleaned up the kitchenette. There was an exchange of "Good nights", and soon their little flat was in complete darkness. But, like almost every night of Lena's life, sleep didn't come easily. Tonight, it was the last part of her conversation that day with Potter that kept her wide awake.

The moment Potter had been Sorted into Gryffindor, he had become Public Enemy No. 1 for the Slytherin students, and it appeared to be quite a mutual loathing. So Lena guessed that when whoever it was filled him in on all the rumours about her, and who her parents were, he'd probably been more than happy to assume the worst of a Slytherin. And if Lena was being completely honest with herself, that was pretty understandable.

Before she had arrived at Hogwarts, Lena had assumed that she would be Sorted into Slytherin. But she would be lying if she said she hadn't entertained the notion of being placed in a different house. She couldn't really imagine herself in Hufflepuff – and, she recalled, neither had the Sorting Hat. However, she thought Ravenclaw could have been a natural fit; she was more than eager in her pursuit of knowledge. But Gryffindor had been the most intriguing prospect for Lena. After all, she was no coward. And coming into Hogwarts with that already attached reputation that made people constantly compare her with her parents – surely being a Gryffindor would have indicated that she was very, very different to them.

But Lena was ambitious. And cunning. And when she'd been Sorted into Slytherin, she could remember thinking about how proud Voldemort would have been of her, and how disappointed he would have been if she hadn't. For although back then her feelings towards her former teacher were becoming more complicated and painful, she never stopped trying to impress the memory of him.

* * *

 _Friday 29 August, 1980:_

 _"Sir?"_

 _"What is it, Lena?"_

 _She bit her lip, and gazed up at her teacher, who was watching her with his red eyes. He was the only person Lena had ever seen with red eyes. She often wondered whether he had been born with them, or if they had changed over time. If so, why? Had it been deliberate?_

 _"Lena?"_

 _She started, and realised she'd been staring into his eyes. She blushed when she saw the trace of a smirk on his face, embarrassed he'd noticed. She didn't want him to think she liked him like that!_

 _She cleared her throat, remembering her original question. "I was just wondering, sir, is it right that Hogwarts starts again soon?"_

 _"The new school year begins next week," confirmed Voldemort. "Why do you ask?"_

 _Lena shrugged._

 _Voldemort tilted his head, and smiled wryly. "Wishing you could go, too?" He touched his chest in a gesture of mock-offense. "Not proving a satisfactory teacher, am I?"_

 _"No!" answered Lena immediately, a little more vehemently than she'd intended. She blushed again when Voldemort chuckled at her passionate response. She tried again. "I mean, yes, you're a satisfactory teacher." Worried that this sounded insolent, she quickly added, "More than satisfactory."_

 _Voldemort continued to smile at her, clearly amused. "I am glad to hear that. So if that's the case, why the sudden interest in Hogwarts?"_

 _Lena looked down at her lap, and started playing with her hair. "Will I still go when I'm eleven?"_

 _He nodded. "That would be my intention for you."_

 _Looking back up at him with a furrowed brow, Lena asked, "But would there be any point? Aren't I going to be really ahead of everyone else because of our lessons?"_

 _"I imagine you will have advanced significantly further than any of your fellow students, yes. However, I still wish for you to attend."_

 _"But can't I just keep having lessons with you?" said Lena, her eyes giving away the pleading nature of her request._

 _There was a hint of smugness in Voldemort's smile. If Lena had been older, she would have realised that Voldemort was flattered by her desire to remain with him._

 _"Because, Lena," he explained, "Hogwarts is an important part of our Wizarding culture." He paused, as if considering whether to say anything else. Finally, he added, "And it is an important part of my heritage."_

 _Lena's eyes widened slightly at this. As far as she knew, Voldemort didn't have any family, which was something that, for some explicable reason, pleased Lena. Furthermore, he'd never told Lena anything about where he came from._

 _"What do you mean?" questioned Lena, curiosity almost bursting out of her._

 _Voldemort smiled indulgently at his young pupil. "Well, Hogwarts was founded by four witches and wizards over a thousand years ago. One of those wizards was named Salazar Slytherin. He is my ancestor."_

 _"Wow," said Lena, impressed. "How do you know that?"_

 _"Salazar was a Parselmouth," he told her, "as am I. It is an ability which is passed down from generation to generation."_

 _It was an unfamiliar term to Lena. "What's a Parselmouth?"_

 _"Somebody who can talk to and understand snakes."_

 _Now Lena was even more impressed. "You can talk to snakes?" she whispered, awed._

 _He chuckled. "Indeed I can."_

 _Lena bit her lip, and edged slightly closer to her teacher. "Could I... could I hear you do it?"_

 _Voldemort eyed her with an odd expression, but then smiled again, and pulled out his wand. He pointed it over towards the bedroom door. "Serpentsortia," he incanted._

 _There was a white light, and a long black snake shot out of his wand. Lena had never seen a real live snake before, and instinctively shrunk back as it turned to look at her, opening its mouth and revealing its fangs. But before it began to slither its way over to her, Voldemort made a strange hissing noise, and the snake faced him. It hissed back, and Voldemort said something else to it. Then he held out his hand, and the snake slowly slithered towards him._

 _Voldemort glanced at the still frightened Lena. "It's all right," he murmured to her. "It won't hurt you. I won't let it."_

 _The snake reached him, and he picked it up. It began to coil itself around his arms. He hissed something else to it, and the snake turned to Lena. It stared at her for a few seconds, before responding to Voldemort._

 _"Here," he said softly to Lena, holding the snake out to her. "You can touch it."_

 _Lena looked at her teacher anxiously, but he gave her a reassuring smile. Hesitantly, she reached her small hand out, took a deep breath, and lightly stroked the snake's back._

 _"It's smooth," she mumbled. The snake turned its head back to watch her, which worried Lena. But when she realised it wasn't going to attack, she continued to slowly pet the snake, unaware of the pleased expression with which Voldemort was watching her._

 _"Could I learn it?"_

 _Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Learn what?"_

 _"How to speak Parselmouth," said Lena._

 _"Parseltongue," he automatically corrected her._

 _"What?"_

 _"Parseltongue is the language. A Parselmouth is someone who speaks it," he explained gently. "And no, you can't learn it. You're either born with the ability or not."_

 _Lena looked up at him, a pout on her lips. "That's stupid," she complained. "And unfair."_

 _Voldemort made an odd noise, and Lena realised he was trying to hold back laughter._

 _"That's just how it is," he told her, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I'm sorry."_

 _The four year-old glared at him, still pouting. "No you're not. You like that you can do something other people can't do."_

 _He attempted to hold her gaze, but finally a smirk broke free, and he shrugged. "All right, I'm not really sorry," he conceded. "But there are plenty of other things I can teach you, Lena."_

 _"Like what?"_

 _He quirked an eyebrow. "Have you ever heard of Occlumency?"_

* * *

Lena opened her eyes, tearing herself away from the memory. Merlin, she hadn't just been a precocious child, but an impudent one too. Looking back, she was surprised with how much cheek Voldemort had let her get away with.

'He must have really liked me,' thought Lena, then instantly regretted it, because all those sorts of thoughts did were make her compare her relationship with Voldemort back then to the previous school year.

When he hadn't even bothered to let her know that he was there the whole fucking time, the bastard.

Lena groaned. It was pathetic, really, the way she had been thinking the past two months.

'No,' she told herself. 'Not pathetic. _Sick. Twisted._ ' What sort of decent human being would whine about the fact that an evil, psychopathic _mass murderer_ wasn't paying her enough attention?

In the dark, Lena smiled humourlessly. 'That's an easy one,' she answered her own question. 'A decent human being _wouldn't._ '

* * *

 **Hopefully, Chapter 11 will be another quick update :)**

 **To my Guest reviewer: I'm glad you liked the previous chapter's title; I do try to always give my chapter names meaning, and a relevancy to the entire chapter.**

 **Regard what you said about Percy & Crouch - correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe there's a part in GoF where, after learning about Barty Crouch Jr. from Sirius, the trio speculate about whether Percy knows this, and Ron suggests that even if Percy did, he might respect Crouch Sr. more for sentencing his own son to Azkaban, which works as a sort of foreshadow to the breakdown in relationship between Percy and his family in OotP.**

 **And what you said about parents trying to keep information about the War away from their children - most of the kids who play a significant role in the series weren't any older than three or four by the end of the War. I suspect that kids who were older (say 9 to 11, like the oldest students when Lena began at Hogwarts would have been back then) would have been reasonably aware of what was going on, even if their parents were trying to shelter them - kids that age can be a lot more perceptive than adults give them credit for.**

 **But thank you for the other lovely things you said; I hope you enjoyed this chapter too :)**


	11. A New Teacher

**So I would have liked to have gotten this uploaded a bit earlier, but I had uni stuff. But's it here now, so hurrah for that! Thank you to TheWeightofUS, vballnikig, Annalise17 and the guest for their lovely reviews, I really appreciate them. Remember, if there's something you don't understand or you don't really think is working, please tell me, and I'll be sure to respond to you in my Author's Note in the next chapter.  
**

 **Hope everyone enjoys this chapter :)**

* * *

 _Wednesday 2 September, 1992:_

"Do you know if it's possible to _Avada Kedavra_ yourself?" Maggie whispered to Lena. "Because if so, I'm seriously considering the possibility of doing it right now."

"Why put yourself through all that trouble when you could just use it on _him_?" muttered Lena, watching Gilderoy Lockhart in disgust as he stood at the front of the classroom, teaching.

Well, 'teaching' was a very loose – and generous – definition of it.

"Seriously, this is the guy who's supposed to be taking us to our NEWTs?" hissed Maggie.

At this, Lena snorted and turned to Maggie. "Yeah, because it's not like you were just going to rely on me to get you through the next two years anyway," she said pointedly. "What was it again I got you for your OWL, an E?"

"Shut up, you know you're that nerd that actually _enjoys_ helping people do homework."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Girls!"

At the sound of Lockhart's voice, Lena and Maggie both turned to the front, where their new professor was standing with his hands on his hips, and patronisingly shaking his head at them.

"Girls," repeated Lockhart, "surely you're old enough to know that you should be paying attention in class, not chatting to each other!"

Lena knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't resist the temptation to screw with Lockhart. "I didn't realise there was anything to pay attention to," she said bluntly.

Lena's Sixth Year DADA class was a combination of Slytherin and Ravenclaw students. So while the faces of the Slytherin students immediately lit up at the sound of her antagonising the new teacher, the Ravenclaws looked shocked, having never been witnesses to such exchanges before.

Lockhart had appeared momentarily taken aback, but his broad smile immediately returned to his face. "On the contrary, I've been relating to the class a most informative tale about a vampire I encountered in Moldova. I think you'd find it more enlightening than whatever you were chatting about, Miss...?" He looked at her expectantly.

She gave him her most predatory smile. "Lestrange."

There was something quite satisfying about the way Lockhart blanched upon hearing her surname.

"I, I see," he said, recovering. "Well-"

"And we actually were talking about something relating to Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Lockhart raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Oh? And what was that, then?"

This time, Lena didn't smile. Instead, she fixed Lockhart with her iciest stare. "The Killing Curse."

A Ravenclaw girl actually let out a small shriek at this, and the rest of her housemates looked either frightened or sickened. Out of the corner of her eye, Lena could see that Maggie, trying to hold it together, had begun to convulse with silent laughter.

The majority of the Slytherin boys were eagerly looking between a visibly paled Lockhart and Lena. The only other two Slytherin girls in the class, Gemma Farley and Nicole Bletchley, appeared somewhere between amused and wary.

Lockhart nervously coughed. "I'm afraid we aren't looking at the Unforgivable Curses at this time, Miss..." He hesitated before he said her name. "Lestrange. So perhaps we should return-"

But Lena, not ready to give up on what seemed to be a promising form of entertainment, interrupted him. "Have you ever used one?"

She heard some sharp intakes of breath from the Ravenclaws, and some mutters, no doubt about how Lena Lestrange was clearly as deranged an individual as everyone said.

Lockhart pulled at his collar, frowning. Evidently, this class wasn't go to plan."I, uh - that is to say-"

Leaning forward on her elbows, Lena pressed on. "Thing about Unforgivable Curses is that you really need to mean them," she said softly, aware that the rest of the class was hanging onto every word she said. "You need to feel them." She dropped her voice even lower, and actually saw Marcus Flint (who somehow had managed to pass his OWL exams, to Lena's surprise) lean in towards her. "The power rushes through you, see. It courses through your veins. And then," she continued, her voice now barely more than a whisper, "you have the power to _control_ , to _hurt_... to _kill._ And after you've done it once... it gets easier every time. _"_

The room was silent enough to hear a pin drop.

Then Lena leaned back in her chair, and her voice returned to normal. "At least, that's what I've heard people say." She smiled brightly around the room.

Maggie, unable to hold back any longer, ducked down behind her desk, attempting to muffle her hysterical laughter in the crook of her arm.

Ignoring her, Lena continued to smile dazzlingly at a clearly freaked-out Lockhart. "But we're getting off topic, aren't we, _sir_?" she emphasised mockingly. "You had some absolutely fascinating stuff to tell us about vampires, didn't you, _sir_?"

Lockhart looked at her blankly for a moment, as if he had forgotten why he was there. "Er..." He blinked and shook his head slightly, he senses apparently returning. "Uh, yes. Well. So, vampires. In Moldova. Yes." He launched back into his story, but it was clear that he no longer held the class's attention, as students turned to each other and started whispering.

Lena looked around the classroom, and with mild interest, noted that it was impossible to tell that just three months ago the class had been destroyed to the point of looking like a war-zone. She was actually quite impressed with the job she'd done repairing everything.

She checked the time, and sighed. They still had almost forty minutes of class left.

"This is intolerable," she complained to Maggie, who also glanced at the clock on the classroom wall.

"How are we supposed to stand an entire year of this, let alone another forty minutes?" she whispered back.

Lena fixed her teacher with a look of distaste. Lockhart noticed this, and stumbled over his words before very perceptibly looking away.

But Lena continued to stare at him venomously. "You know how the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position is supposed to be cursed?" she muttered.

Maggie looked at her curiously. "Yeah?"

Not taking her eyes off Lockhart, Lena smirked. "I'm beginning to think that the curse might just have to come into effect a little bit earlier than usual."

There were few things in the world that Lena hated as much as an incompetent teacher.

* * *

"He's that bad?" asked Rolf later that day as the three of them exited the Entrance Hall, walking down to their Care of Magical Creatures class.

"I'm pretty sure he spent at least ten minutes talking about how substandard mass-produced hair-care products for wizards are," said Maggie. "At least you got the idea that Quirrell generally knew what he was talking about – even if he couldn't string a complete sentence together without stuttering."

Although Lena carefully kept her face a mask of neutrality, the mention of Quirrell made her want to hit something very hard.

Rolf, meanwhile, was grimacing. "I haven't got him until tomorrow. Reckon there's any chance the curse could finish him off before then?"

Maggie snorted. "It will if Lena gets her way."

Instead of being amused, Rolf gave Lena a concerned look, which she picked up on.

"What's the matter?" asked Lena.

"Well," began Rolf, "it's just- oomph!"

He had collided with a small Ravenclaw girl, who was knocked flat on her backside. She gazed up at Rolf with wide, protuberant, silvery eyes.

"Oh Merlin, sorry!" apologised Rolf hurriedly, extending an arm down. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

The girl, who Lena guessed was a First Year, took the proffered hand, and Rolf pulled her up.

"It's quite all right," she said. "Neither was I." She smiled vaguely at Rolf, then side-stepped around him, and continued on her way.

Lena, Rolf and Maggie watched the retreating figure of the girl.

"Were those radish earrings she was wearing?" asked Maggie, amused.

"Yep," confirmed Lena.

"Maybe it's a new trend," suggested Rolf.

Lena snickered. "I don't think that was the sort of girl who follows the latest fashion trends. Anyway, what were you going to say, Rolf?"

"What? Oh," remembered Rolf as they resumed walking, "I was just wondering if you'd ever considered solving a problem without, you know, resorting to threats or violent measures?"

She knew that Rolf had spoken without malice. But that didn't stop his words feeling like a punch in her gut. So Lena did what she always did when she was hurt – she lashed out.

"Yeah, I have," replied Lena quietly, without looking at him. "Of course, that was only once I actually found out it was an option. But thanks for reminding me that normal, _decent_ human responses don't come naturally to me, Rolf." Her voice was colder than she'd intended, but she found that at that moment, she didn't really care. "Thanks a fucking bunch."

She saw Rolf and Maggie's shocked expressions out of the corner of her eye, but ignored them. Before they could say anything, she sped up her pace and left them behind, weaving in and out of students returning to the castle from the greenhouses.

Lena was the first student to arrive at the Care of Magical Creatures class, which was meeting outside one of the greenhouses. Professor Kettleburn, the teacher, was already there, and grunted an acknowledgement to Lena. Soon, Maggie and Rolf arrived, and went to stand next to Lena without saying anything. They were quickly followed by the other five students in the class, two more Hufflepuffs and three Gryffindors. Once he was satisfied they were all present, Kettleburn set off in the direction of the Great Lake, his students in tow.

Once they arrived at the lake, Lena noticed that a section of it had been blocked off from the rest of the body of water, and into four smaller segments. In his gruff voice, Kettleburn explained to the class that they were dealing with Kelpies today, and were to divide into pairs. Each pair had to attempt to put a bridle over their Kelpie's head using a Placement Charm, in order to render it docile, and to stop it from dragging them under and trying to drown them.

"You've got one hour," finished Kettleburn. "Begin."

The two other Hufflepuff students immediately headed off to one of the segments. The three Gryffindors looked at each other, and then over at where Lena, Maggie and Rolf stood in distaste. They turned back to each other and began bickering.

Maggie gently shoved Rolf towards the Gryffindors. He scowled back at her, but meandered over to them with his hands shoved in his pockets. Maggie gave Lena a terse look, and she nodded back slightly. They wordlessly started to make their way over to their section of the lake. As they neared the shore, Maggie broke the silence.

"You going to explain why you went full-bitch mode on Rolf before, or are we just supposed to accept the fact that sometimes you go mental for no apparent reason, and let you treat us like shit just because you can?"

It was an unprecedented step for Maggie to call out Lena for her behaviour, and one that Lena had no clue how to immediately respond to.

The two girls stopped at the edge of the shore and looked out at the vast lake. The two Hufflepuffs stood not far away, discussing tactics. The other two pairs were making their ways over too, and the Gryffindor girl who'd been forced to go with Rolf looked distinctly unhappy. Rolf didn't appear thrilled about his situation either. He noticed Lena watching him, and they made eye contact for a moment before he looked away.

Sighing, Lena stared back out at the lake. A gust of wind hit, billowing her and Maggie's robes. Her hair, which she was wearing in a half-updo, was swept into her face, and she impatiently pushed it out of the way.

"I blew it way out of proportion," said Lena, glancing at Maggie, who was watching her impassively. "I'm sorry." She tried to hold back her hair as the breeze pushed at her again.

"And?"

Perplexed, Lena turned to face Maggie. "And what?"

Maggie rolled her eyes. "An apology is nice, but it's not what I asked for."

Lena folded her arms. "You want an explanation?"

Exasperated, Maggie threw up her hands. "Yes!" she cried. "Yes, I want a bloody explanation! I mean, Jesus, I don't ask for much, do I? I don't ask about your parents. I don't ask about your time abroad. I've never even fucking asked how you feel about Muggle-borns. But you don't get to be a bitch to my other best friend, and then just wave it off with a 'Sorry', and an 'I can act like that sometimes because I had a rough childhood'. It's not _fucking_ _good enough!"_

The wind had drowned out Maggie's shouting to everyone but Lena, who stared back at her friend as if she'd never seen her before. She had always been proud of her ability to read people, to know how they felt. And over the years she had detected that Maggie had suffered a lot during her childhood. But guessing that, like herself, Maggie didn't want to talk about it, she never pushed the subject. It had never occurred to her that maybe her friend would... well, _care_.

When Lena didn't respond, Maggie turned away in disgust, looking back out to the lake. She sighed. "Whatever. So, how are we going to find this Kel-"

"You're right."

Maggie slowly turned back, surprise written all over her face. "Excuse me?" she asked in disbelief.

Lena cleared her throat, and took a step closer to Maggie. "You're right," she repeated. "It's not good enough." She pushed back her windswept hair and folded her arms tightly, as if hugging herself. "So, here's your explanation." She paused, gathering her thoughts.

"See," she began, " when you were little, you were taught to be _good_ – or at least, what good was." Maggie opened her mouth to interrupt, but Lena pressed on. "I'm not saying you were surrounded by saints – I imagine you've come across some pretty awful people over the years – but I'm guessing that most of them would at least put on a pretence of being decent people. And I bet that when you went to school, your teachers told you to be respectful to others – 'do unto others as you would have them do unto you ', right? Be nice. Be kind. Be caring. And you were told muggle children's stories where they extolled these virtues, and cruelty and greed were punished. A basic code of morality was practically gift-wrapped for you. And then it was your choice whether to follow it or not."

Lena paused. The wind was beginning to die down. She noticed that all the other pairs had set to work trying to lure the Kelpie out so they could attempt the Placement Charm. Kettleburn was watching them from a distance, but appeared unconcerned that she and Maggie hadn't begun working yet. Lena looked back at Maggie, who was watching her intently, and continued.

"I spent the first six years of my life in the presence of Death Eaters. And if they weren't Death Eaters, they were the families and supporters of them. I rarely left my house, and only then to go to the homes of other Death Eaters." She smiled bitterly. "My mother... well, I'm sure you can imagine that she wasn't exactly the type to read fairytales to her child. So instead I got stories about how muggles were filth, and so was anyone who shared their blood. And I would hear them all talking and laughing about the times they would go out and find random muggle families and-" Lena stopped. She swallowed hard before proceeding. "Hurting people wasn't wrong – it was entertainment. And if someone hurt you, it was up to you to stop it... and then hurt them back. Even if you were a child. You see, none of the other Death Eaters had children anywhere near my age – they were either babies or almost adults themselves. So I didn't..." she hesitated, searching for the right words. "I didn't know better. And then the War ended and my parents were arrested. My grandmother took me to Switzerland, and I met my Great Aunt Valeriya." She paused again. "And she wasn't a Death Eater. Or one of their sympathisers. But that didn't mean I finally had someone in my life who was a paragon of virtue. Sure," she shrugged, "I finally had another perspective on blood purity. And she didn't hex me, or curse me. But there was one rule she also lived by: if someone hurts you, you hurt them back. And you hurt them hard enough so they won't ever hurt you again."

Lena closed her eyes as a memory began to play in her mind. She opened them again, and began to recount the story in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "Valeriya would often take me with her when she was selling and purchasing items. At first, she didn't take me to see the really dangerous clientele. But when I was seven, she brought me along to this one deal in Carcassonne, France. I knew the moment I saw this client that this wizard was different to the others I'd met with Valeriya. He was... well, he was more like the Death Eaters. Not because he was overtly blood purist; in all honesty, I can't say what exactly it was. But I knew something was wrong the moment we met him." At this point the memory became so vivid that Lena almost shuddered. She closed her eyes again and rubbed her forehead.

"To cut a long story short, this guy wanted to buy something off Valeriya – a Dark, dangerous object. She agreed, but made him sign some kind of contract before she handed it over. The moment he got the object, the wizard tried to doublecross her, attempting to use it to kill her. But it didn't work. Instead, something began to happen to him." An image seared Lena's brain. "It was like all the moisture in his body was being drawn out of him. He started screaming, and I-" Lena bit her lip, then took a deep breath. "I tried to leave, but Valeriya stopped me. She said I needed to watch. So I did."

Now Maggie looked horrified, but Lena wasn't finished. "See, she'd put a curse on the contract. A curse that would prove fatal if the contract was broken. And because that wizard tried to kill her with the object... So I watched him die. To Valeriya, it was all an important lesson for me to learn, about not letting anyone get away with crossing you. And to always be willing to go further than your opponent, to be more ruthless than them." She looked out at the lake. "The more I've thought about it over the years, the more I think that Valeriya took me with her that day knowing what was going to happen."

She glanced over at where Rolf was arguing with his partner, and felt Maggie wordlessly move to stand beside her. Without turning to face her, Lena concluded her explanation.

"Before I came to Hogwarts, I'd never really met another child. Pretty much everybody I had interacted with in my life was an adult, and they were almost always very dangerous. So I didn't understand how to treat any of you. Everybody talked so... _openly_ – wore their hearts on their sleeves, so to speak." She gave Maggie a sidelong glance. "Except you. You were as closed off as me. It was like you were the only other sane person in the whole school." She smiled drily as Maggie let out a small snort of amusement. "But the thing I really didn't get was how kids were supposed to respond to other kids who offended, insulted or tried to hurt them. Just taking it on the chin, or telling a teacher, even a proportionate response – none of it ever occurred to me." She ran a hand through her hair. "Even not getting my own way – if I knew I could get something, then I wouldn't take no for an answer." She stared out at the lake blankly. "Took me a while to realise that I was a bully."

She turned back to Maggie. "So Rolf asking me if I'd considered not using threats or violent measures to solve problems... I got angry because it was accurate. Because I'm trying to be better, but it's not easy to change a mindset formulated over the first eleven years of your life." She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. "Being _good_ doesn't come to me easily."

For a few moments, there was only silence between the two girls. Then Maggie said quietly, "I don't think you're a bully."

Lena raised an eyebrow, and smiled wryly. "I've never bullied _you_. Doesn't mean I haven't done some awful things to other people. And there's stuff you don't know about."

Maggie tilted her head. "Maybe. But there's stuff I've figured out. Like the fact that since our first few months at Hogwarts, I haven't been bothered by the other Slytherins for not being from a Wizarding family. And I'm not enough of an idiot to think that's got anything to do with how they feel about _me_ ," she added pointedly.

Lena didn't say anything; she simply shrugged slightly, as if to say ' _so what?'_.

Maggie rolled her eyes at the nonchalant response, then sighed. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For the explanation. It..." she struggled to find the appropriate words. "It was... very... illuminating."

"Glad to hear it." A thought occurred to Lena. "Merlin, you're not going to make me repeat all of that to Rolf, are you?"

"I think an abridged version would be sufficient," said Maggie, a small smirk playing on her lips. Then she took a deep breath. "But in any case," she began, looking awkward, "I just want you to know that this... kind of stuff – well, you can talk to me about it. Anytime. I'm..." she trailed off.

Lena smiled, amused. "Here for me?"

"Yeah," nodded Maggie, seemingly relieved she hadn't had to say the cliché out loud.

Lena bit her lip, then quietly replied, "I appreciate that. And if, you know, there's ever anything you need to... erm, get off your chest..."She left the sentence hanging.

Maggie hesitantly smiled back at her. "You've got me covered, right?"

"Right."

There was a pause as they continued to look at each other.

"Is this the part where we're supposed to hug?"

"... Let's not, and say we did."

"Oh, thank fuck for that."

* * *

 _Friday 4 September, 1992:_

That evening two days later, Lena and Maggie were in their dormitory working on a Transfiguration essay. They were sitting cross-legged on Maggie's bed, surrounded by text books and pieces of parchment.

"What page was that Purcell quote on?" Lena asked Maggie as she scribbled down notes.

Maggie flicked through one of the larger textbooks. "Um... forty-nine."

"Thanks."

"Can I borrow that copy of the _Transfiguration Today_ article?"

"Sure," replied Lena, scanning the bed for the correct bundle of papers. Spotting it, she leaned over to grab it, when there was a knock at the door.

Lena and Maggie froze, staring at each other in bewilderment.

"Did somebody just knock on our door?" hissed Maggie.

Before Lena could respond, she was answered by the sound of another knock. Both girls' heads snapped towards the door, disbelief etched on their faces. Ever since Lena had 'persuaded' Nicole Bletchley and Flavia Warrington to move out of their dormitory back in First Year, nobody had knocked on their door.

There was a third knock on the door. Lena and Maggie looked back at each other, then Lena hopped off the bed and approached the door. With one more glance back at Maggie and a shrug of her shoulders, she opened it.

Standing opposite her with a fist raised as if about to knock again, stood Gemma Farley, the female Slytherin prefect of their year level. Lena quickly masked her surprise with an expression of indifference, and leaned against the doorframe.

"Can I help you, Farley?" she drawled. She heard her dorm mate shift on her bed, evidently curious upon hearing their visitor's name.

For a moment, Farley was frozen. Then she noticed her still-raised fist and awkwardly lowered it. She cleared her throat. "Um, hello." Her voice slightly cracked on the last syllable.

Instead of responding, Lena crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow, perfecting her look of bored-but-still-intimidating. By the way Farley gulped, it seemed to be working.

"Erm, okay," began Farley, nervously fiddling with her skirt. "Well, the thing is... well, I was wondering – that is to say, we were wondering, um, if maybe... well, we've been thinking, um-"

Lena rolled her eyes. "Spit it out," she said sharply.

Farley flinched, taking a step back. Realising that maybe intimidation wasn't going to be the quickest method of finding out what Farley wanted, Lena sighed.

"I'm not going to hex you just for asking me a question," she told the anxious girl.

With a cautious nod, Farley took a deep breath and tried again. Only this time, she spat it out a little too quickly. "Werondringfoochusdefesgenstarketsear?"

Lena blinked. "I'm sorry, would you like to repeat that again in a language that people actually speak?" she asked drily.

Farley blushed, and coughed slightly. She said in a much slower, clearer voice, "We were wondering if you would teach us Defense Against the Dark Arts this year?"

Lena actually recoiled. She heard Maggie make a strange noise behind her, but didn't take her eyes off Farley. After a very pregnant pause, she asked flatly, "You what?"

Somehow, the fact that Lena had so clearly been thrown off balance by her request appeared to embolden Farley. "Well," she explained, "it's clear Lockhart is... well, that he doesn't really know what he's talking about. Especially not at NEWT level." Her tone became somewhat aggravated. "I mean everything he's been trying to teach us this week, he's felt the need to tie it back to one of his books. He basically dodges any question that he can't find the answer to in them. But you..." She hesitated, before finishing in a rushed voice, "You know your stuff."

Staring back at Farley blankly, Lena felt confused – not because she didn't understand what Farley was saying, but because she _was_ making complete sense. Their class had had two more lessons with Lockhart since their initial one. On both occasions, Lockhart had simply recounted passages from his books, and when asked a question relating to the actual course curriculum, had deflected it. And several times this had happened, an exasperated Lena had taken it upon herself to answer the question – naturally, in the snarkiest and most disinterested ways she possibly could. It hadn't occurred to her that she'd actually done more to teach their class than Lockhart had that week.

Then Lena remembered how Farley had begun her request, and frowned. "Who's 'we'?"

Farley bit her lip anxiously. "Um, all the Slytherins in our class."

Lena cocked her head. "So what, you guys had a little meeting about how concerned you all were about your academic futures?" she asked, sceptical.

"Basically," shrugged Farley. "I mean, I think Flint was just hoping you'd teach us some Dark curses. But the rest of us – I mean, Quirrell might not have been able to string a coherent sentence together, but at least he wasn't a complete imbecile." The mention of Quirrell put Lena on edge, but Farley wasn't finished yet. "And although it's not exactly a secret that you don't really like... well," she rubbed her neck thoughtfully, "anyone, really, except for Skelton and that Hufflepuff guy, the way you've answered questions in class this week was, well, quite helpful."

Pushing aside the strangely flattered feeling she received from Farley's words, Lena returned to the safe mode of sarcasm. "So what, you want me to take over the Defense classes? What do I do with Lockhart while I'm teaching, tie him up and lock him in a trunk?"

Farley's eyes widened slightly, evidently unsure whether Lena was being serious or not. "Um..."

Running a hand through her hair, Lena shot Farley an incredulous look. "No, Farley, obviously I'm not going to do that." She couldn't resist adding, "I mean, for one lesson, sure, but not an entire year."

There was a snort of amusement from Maggie.

Sighing, Lena crossed her arms and looked at Farley in what she hoped was a slightly sympathetic manner. "Look, Farley, I understand your desire to have a competent teacher in this subject, and Merlin knows Lockhart is an insufferable git – but even if it was feasible, me teaching the rest of you would be a terrible-"

"It's a good idea."

It was Maggie who had spoken, and Lena spun around to face her, surprised. "Care to elaborate?" she inquired.

Maggie shrugged and walked over to join them at the doorway. "You're actually a pretty good teacher. I mean, I think my OWL results provide enough evidence of that. And it's not like you'd have to replace Lockhart during lessons – you could organise classes outside of our timetables."

Lena frowned. "You think they're really willing to give up their free time for more lessons?" she asked, doubtful.

"They're willing to come to _you_ for _help_ ," Maggie pointed out. She glanced at Farley, who was watching them curiously. "And if they're _that_ desperate, well..."

Lena mulled it over. She didn't particularly like her Slytherin classmates, but she supposed it wasn't really fair that they were receiving an inadequate education just because Dumbledore was unable to find a competent, willing DADA teacher. It wasn't like she couldn't spare the extra time. And there was something attractive about the opportunity to set her classmates homework...

"Well, if you really want me to teach you," she said to Farley, "perhaps we can give it a trial run."

"Really?" asked Farley, looking as if she couldn't believe her luck. "You're sure?"

"No, I'm not sure. That's why I said we'll give it a trial run. And, " added Lena, "I'd like to do it sooner rather than later. So you can tell the others that if they're interested, they need to show up on Sunday morning at ten."

"Oh, I don't think Flint can do Sunday," said Farley. "He's scheduled Quidditch practise for then, and he's a got a new seeker, so he really needs to train him. Could we possibly do tomorrow?"

Yes, Lena could have done Saturday. But just before she opened her mouth to agree, a thought occurred to her. If she really was going to be their teacher, she needed to know they would respect her authority, and she needed to know they were going to commit to this. So instead, she bluntly told Farley, "No. We can't do Saturday. It's Sunday. If Flint can't make it then, that's his problem."

She could see a confused Maggie out of the corner of her eye. Worried that she might ask why Lena couldn't do Saturday, she shot her a warning look.

Clearly taken aback, Farley stuttered out, "R-right. Um... it's just that he said that, that Gryffindor has already booked the pitch for tomorrow, so-"

"Farley."

Farley came to an abrupt silence.

"I really don't care."

After a moment's silence, Farley nodded quickly. "Right, yeah, I'm sure he can sort something out. So, 10am, Sunday? And where will me meet?"

Racking her brain, Lena soon came up with a suitable venue. "There's an unused classroom on the first-floor. But in case you lot can't find it, we can meet in the corridor first."

"Okay, sounds good."

For a moment, Farley continued to stare at Lena. When she showed no sign of movement, Lena raised an eyebrow. "Was there something else?"

Farley blinked. "What? Oh, no," she said, her face flushing. "Um, well... thank you."

Impatient to get back to her Transfiguration essay, Lena flapped her hand in a shooing motion. "Yes, yes."

Comprehending the gesture, Farley took a couple of steps backs. "Oh right, well – good night, then."

Lena gave her a curt nod, then shut the door. She turned around to find Maggie smirking at her. "What?"

"Are you going to make them call you Professor Lestrange?"

Lena snorted. "I might need to test the mood of the room first," she deadpanned.

They sat back down on Maggie's bed. "Well, have fun on Sunday," said Maggie. "Hanging out with Flint, Burke, Bletchley – sounds like a whole lot of fun." She sniggered.

As Lena picked up her parchment to read it over, she glanced up at Maggie, amused. "Oh, you're going to be there too."

Maggie's laughter immediately ceased. "What are you talking about?"

Lena gave her friend her best twisted smile. "You're the one who talked me into this. You're not getting out of it."

Maggie crossed her arms defiantly. "So what, you're going to force me to come?"

Still smiling, Lena began crossing out the extraneous words in her essay. "Only in the sense that coming is the only way you're going to continue getting Defense Against the Dark Arts help from me."

Maggie groaned, and dramatically slumped back against her pillow. "You're a hard woman, Lestrange."

Lena chuckled. "Thank you. Oh," she grinned at Maggie, "and that's Professor Lestrange to you."

* * *

 **So because I'm heading into a pretty heavy assessment period of uni, I doubt I'll be updating before mid-November (say around the 18th). So until then, I'll just say thank you to everyone who's still reading this story, and I hope you'll be back for more :)**


	12. Opening

**So... this took much long than I expected. Sorry about that. It's quite a long chapter, if that makes up for the seriously delayed update date. But I've graduated from university now, so that might mean I get some more time to work on this, which would be good.**

 **Thank you to Corii00, Annalise17, Cosi, FreidenSchmi, rebelforcauses, H.O, and the guests for their lovely reviews; as always, they're hugely appreciated. And thank you to everyone who's followed and favourited, it's wonderful to think that you like this story enough to do that. And everyone who's just read _To Be Human_ up to this point - that's pretty cool too :)**

 **And now, I will let you embark upon this new chapter...**

* * *

 _Sunday 6 September, 1992:_

Sunday morning found Lena standing at the front of a classroom, facing eight of her housemates, and wondering what the hell she had got herself into.

She glanced down at her wristwatch at the precise moment the clock ticked over to 10am. It was time to begin. Looking back up at the class, who were whispering to each other, she cleared her throat. Immediately, the quiet chatter ceased, and the faces of her housemates turned to her, a mix of apprehension and eagerness in their expressions.

"Right, you all know why you're here," began Lena, her confident voice easily concealing the uncertainty she felt about the whole enterprise. "You've asked me to teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts, and that's what I intend to do, to the best of my ability. But I will only do this-" she broke off when she saw that Aloysius Burke had raised his hand. "You have a question?" she asked him.

"Yeah," said Burke. "Why is _he_ here?" He indicated with his thumb to the back of the classroom where Rolf was sitting next to Maggie on one of the desks.

Yes, Rolf was there too, having been practically dragged there by a disgruntled Maggie, and he went very still as the eyes of the rest of the Slytherins turned towards him.

"Because," said Lena in a matter-of-fact voice, "I happen to like him, the same of which I can't say about the rest of you." The heads of the Slytherins swivelled back to face Lena, who continued. "In fact, some of you downright repulse me-"

She paused when she saw Maggie giving her a tiny shake of her head, and realised this probably wasn't the best way to start the class.

She attempted to correct herself. "I mean, not many of you. Actually, it's indifference I feel, mainly. To be honest, I couldn't give less of a fuck about most of you, so I wouldn't really care if you could actually defend yourself from the Dark Arts or not..."

She trailed off. Rolf was staring at her as if she was mental, and Maggie had put her head in her hands. Lena felt a strange sense of déjà vu. It was like Christmas Dinner with the Scamanders, except her and Maggie's roles had reversed.

The other Slytherins, meanwhile, were clearly affronted.

Lena ran a hand through her hair and sighed, annoyed at herself. She knew how to be charming – she had just spent so long treating her housemates with nothing but disdain that it was difficult to break the habit. But she knew she needed to if she was going to teach them anything. After all, that was why she had learned so much from Voldemort – because he had made her feel like she _could_.

'My role model is Lord Voldemort,' she thought. 'Well, if that isn't completely fucked up, I don't know what is.'

Taking out her wand, Lena non-verbally summoned a spare chair from the back of the classroom. Sitting down on it, she took a deep breath, ready to start again.

"Okay," she started, in what she hoped was a less obnoxious tone, "here's the thing. I know a lot about the Dark Arts. I also know a lot about defending myself from them. And the rest of you don't. But you want to." She paused. "And I respect that."

She looked around at her housemates. Farley was watching her curiously, her head tilted. Terence Higgs and Fakhir Kahn were both leaning back in their chairs, their arms crossed as they listened to her , frowning. Flint was leaning forward on his elbow, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. Burke, Thaddeus Accrington and Nicole Bletchley were all eyeing her with expressions of mingled suspicion and interest. None of them looked like they were ready to be her best friends, but at least she had their attention.

"Now, whether it's because you simply require a decent NEWT grade for whatever is your intended career after leaving Hogwarts," Lena went on, "or because you have a genuine interest in this subject, isn't really important to me. What is, is that you've asked for help." She smiled wryly. "And coming from a bunch of Slytherins, that's a big decision – and a hard one – to make." She could see Rolf silently snicker at that, and was glad none of the other Slytherins could see it too. "And because you're putting all your confidences in me to teach you, I think that means I should have confidence in all of you," she made eye contact with each Slytherin, "as students."

The hostility in the gazes of her housemates had now lessened, replaced by a genuine interest and willingness. Encouraged by this, Lena continued, "This, then, is going to require a mutual respect between us. So if any of you tell me that you're not getting something, I won't automatically assume that it's because your capabilities are limited and you're just not good enough to get it. I need to be self-analytical of how I teach you – after all, how can any of you learn anything if it's not been taught properly to you?"

At this, several of the Slytherins nodded.

"But," Lena pressed on, "it goes the other way too. If I ask you all to do something, you need to do it. Because I'll be asking you to do it for a reason – one that will benefit you. And if you're not sure what that reason is, just ask, and I'll explain." She looked at her housemates as earnestly as she could. "It's always important to not only know _how_ to do something, but _why_ to do it. That's how you get good at it."

As Lena surveyed the class, something felt odd to her. It took a moment for her to realise what it was.

The lack of fear.

"So, if that's all clear," said Lena, standing back up, "I think it's time we start today's lesson. Now, we've started working on non-verbal spells in our other subjects, so I was thinking-"

She paused upon seeing that Flint had raised his hand. A little surprised at the fact that he hadn't just called out, it took a couple of seconds for her to call on him. "Yes?"

Flint lowered his hand. "In our first lesson back, you talked about Unforgivable Curses," he said. "And you asked Lockhart if he'd ever used one."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "And?"

He was looking at her with a focus of which Lena hadn't known he was capable. "Well," he said slowly, "have you?"

Now all the class, including Maggie and Rolf, were watching her intently, but Lena didn't let anything slip past her mask of neutrality. "If what you're hoping for is a class on how to use Unforgivable Curses, Flint," she replied calmly, "this is not it."

"But have-"

She cut Flint off. "Unforgivables are highly dangerous and rightly banned by the Ministry of Magic," she said firmly. "To use them is a crime, and I have never-"

"You used the Imperius Curse."

All eyes in the classroom turned to Bletchley, whose paling face indicated that she regretted her interruption.

Lena crossed her arms and stared at Bletchley, who upon realising that Lena wasn't going to say anything at that moment, nervously cleared her throat.

"Back in, in First Year," began Bletchley hesitantly, eying an impassive Lena anxiously, "when you... wanted me and Flavia to... to... um," she scratched her neck uncomfortably, "move out of your dormitory, you..." she paused.

Behind Bletchley, Lena could see a spark of recognition in Maggie's eyes.

"There was a spider," Bletchley blurted out. "And you made it bigger, and then you made it chase us around, and... and other stuff," she finished lamely.

In her peripheral vision, Lena could see Flint and Accrington smirking, evidently amused by the story, which didn't surprise Lena.

But Bletchley was still going. "I didn't realise until Fourth Year, when we learnt about Unforgivables, that you must have been using the Imperius on the spider," she said quietly. "To make it do what you want."

Now, all the eyes turned back to Lena.

"Perhaps, I should clarify: to use Unforgivables _on another human being_ is a crime," said Lena smoothly, "and I have never done _that_. And that is all I have to say on the matter at this time." She pointed her wand at her chair, and it zoomed off to the side of the classroom. "Now," she addressed the class, "please stand up."

As they did, Lena waved her wand, and all the chairs and desks shot off in different directions, clearing the centre of the room.

"Find a partner," she instructed, "and form two opposite lines, so you're all facing your partners. We're going to practise Disarming."

"But that's Second Year stuff!" objected Accrington as he moved to stand opposite Burke.

Lena smirked. "Not when you're doing it non-verbally."

* * *

 _Sunday 1 November, 1992:_

 _THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE_

Lena stared up at the words written on the wall, illuminated by the ball of blue fire in her hand. Darkness still shrouded the hallways of Hogwarts, the torches unlit and the sun yet to rise for another hour.

The news of the ominous message and the attack on Filch's cat had spread like wildfire around the school the previous night. The atmosphere in the Slytherin common room had been particularly tense as the students discussed the legend of the Chamber and what exactly had happened to Mrs Norris – and nobody was prepared to take a definitive stance on whether the supposed reopening of the Chamber would be a good thing or not.

Except for Draco Malfoy, that was. He was quite happy to obnoxiously announce to the rest of the house his delight that 'the Mudbloods had it coming'.

Normally, Lena would see this as an acceptable reason to do something unpleasant to her cousin, but she was too preoccupied to take any immediate action. She hadn't been able to sleep at all that night, and had left the Slytherin Dungeon at the earliest time she could without breaking curfew. She couldn't recall making a conscious decision to go see the message on the wall – she had just sort of found herself there. And now, looking up at the scrawled words, she was struggling to remember a time she had felt more confused.

Not because she didn't understand what it was saying –quite the opposite. Lena knew all about the Chamber of Secrets, and what was more, she knew who the heir of Slytherin was.

 _Saturday 30 October, 1982:_

 _Lena swirled her porridge around the bowl with her spoon, staring blankly ahead._

 _"Lena!"_

 _Startled, Lena dropped her spoon into the bowl, splashing porridge out onto the table cloth. Her eyes snapped to where her grandmother stood, leaning against the kitchen counter, her arms folded and a frown on her face. She was staring at Lena._

 _"I've been calling your name for the last twenty seconds," Irina told her granddaughter._

 _"Sorry," muttered Lena, standing up to find a cloth to clean up the mess she had made. Before she could take a step, Irina drew her wand out of her pocket, and flicked it at the tablecloth._

 _"Scourgify," she said impatiently, and the spilt porridge disappeared._

 _Lena dropped back into her chair with a thud. "Thank you," she mumbled, staring at her breakfast._

 _Irina narrowed her eyes, and sat down in the chair directly opposite to Lena. "What on earth is the matter with you today?" she asked. "You got up two hours later than usual, and you look like someone kicked your kneazle." She leaned forward, scrutinising Lena. "Are you ill?"_

 _Lena shook her head._

 _"So what is it?" demanded Irina._

 _Lena opened her mouth to tell her grandmother it didn't matter, but stopped. She could tell by Irina's expression that this wasn't something she wasn't letting go. In the past year, Lena had discovered her grandmother had an annoying habit of taking an interest in Lena's wellbeing only at the times when Lena most wanted to be left alone._

 _So she sighed, and said softly, "It's been a whole year."_

 _Irina raised her eyebrows, confused. "A whole year since what?"_

 _Lena stared at Irina as if she was an idiot. "Since I last saw_ Him _," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She looked back down at her porridge, adding sadly, "It's a year today."_

 _Her grandmother didn't immediately respond, but Lena could feel Irina's eyes on her._

 _After a few seconds of silence, Lena reached for her spoon, but halted the motion when Irina suddenly spoke._

 _"The Dark Lord is gone, Lena."_

 _Without looking up at her, Lena replied in a slow, controlled voice, "You don't know that. Not for sure."_

 _"You said it yourself," said Irina. "It's been a whole year. The war is over." She paused for a moment, before adding quietly, "You need to move on."_

 _Lena's head reared up, and Irina slightly recoiled upon seeing her granddaughter's cold, angry expression._

 _"Don't you dare," hissed Lena, gripping the edge of the table, "tell me to 'move on'. I am not going to 'move on' from thinking about the_ one person _who has ever..." She swallowed. "Who ever..."_

 _Abruptly, she stood up, shoving her chair back, and turned to exit the kitchen._

 _" Lena, wait."_

 _For a second, Lena thought she would ignore her grandmother and continue her dramatic exit. But there was something in her grandmother's tone, something both earnest and conciliatory, that made her turn back around._

 _She glared at Irina, crossing her arms. "What?"_

 _Her grandmother gazed back at her for a few moments, before saying, "Maybe you're right."_

 _Lena's eyebrow shot up in surprise. "Excuse me?"_

 _Irina sighed, smoothing back her greying hair. "It is possible," she said slowly, "that the Dark Lord is not entirely... gone. Perhaps he is..." she hesitated before finishing, "simply waiting." She began to absentmindedly tap her fingers against the table. "After all, he could always perform the most astonishing feats of magic," she remarked, more to herself than to Lena. "Even when we were just Hogwarts' students."_

 _It took a moment for Irina's words to sink in, and when they did, Lena's eyes widened. "Wait, you were at Hogwarts with him?" she asked, stunned._

 _When Irina nodded, Lena retook her seat._

 _"So you knew him, then?" she pressed on, excitement rising inside of her. "You talked to him, and-"_

 _"He was in the year above," Irina explained. "But we were both in Slytherin. Of course, he went by a different name then."_

 _That made sense to Lena. She had never thought Voldemort was his given name – it seemed like something he would have chosen for himself. And as far as she knew, there weren't any Wizarding 'lords'._

 _A burning curiosity filled her. "What was his name?"_

 _"Riddle," said Irina. "Tom Riddle." She was watching Lena closely, trying to gage her reaction._

 _Lena thought it over for a few moments. Finally, she said, "Riddle's not a Wizarding name, is it?"_

 _"No," answered Irina, her tone measured. "It's not."_

 _Lena slowly nodded to herself. "Well," she said after a long pause, "that actually makes quite a bit of sense."_

 _Irina's eyebrows flew up, clearly shocked. "Why do you say that?"_

 _Shrugging, Lena replied, "If he'd had an old Wizarding name, why would he have chosen a new one? Wouldn't he want to make his connections to families like ours more apparent?"_

 _Irina gazed at her granddaughter. "That's rather clever of you, to think of that."_

 _Acknowledging the compliment with a brief smile, another thought occurred to Lena. "But he does have a connection to an old bloodline, doesn't he? He's descended from Salazar Slytherin."_

 _Yet again, Lena surprised her grandmother. "How do you know that?" asked Irina, frowning._

 _"He told me. And he showed me."_

 _"Showed you?"_

 _"That he's a Parselmouth," clarified Lena. "Didn't you know?"_

 _Irina snorted. "Oh, I know. You see, Julius, your grandfather – my husband – was the same year as him. And of course, at first Julius didn't want anything to do with this boy with no Wizarding name. But then Riddle spoke it – Parseltongue, I mean. In front of the other boys in his dormitory. So they knew he couldn't just be a mudblood, or any ordinary half-blood. And when they saw the kind of power he was capable of-"_

 _"What do you mean by that?" interrupted Lena. "You said before that he performed 'astonishing feats of magic'. Like what?"_

 _Irina dismissively waved her hand. "Oh, lots of things. He always mastered spells before anyone else, and even started inventing new ones as he got older. But I suppose it was in his Fifth Year that we really began to discover the true extent of his power. And by 'we', I mean those of us in his inner circle."_

 _Lena cocked her head. "_ You _were in his inner circle?" Her voice was full of disbelief._

 _With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Irina amended her statement. "Well, Julius was. And because we were together by that time, Julius would always tell me about Riddle." She smiled wryly. "He was in awe of him, you see. They all were."_

 _Lena nodded. She found that very easy to believe. "But what happened in their Fifth Year?"_

 _"He opened the Chamber of Secrets."_

 _"The what?"_

 _"The Chamber of Secrets," repeated Irina, and told Lena the legend of Slytherin's monster, and how Riddle had unleashed it, resulting in the death of a Muggle-born girl._

 _After she had finished, Lena furrowed her brow. "And nobody knew it was Voldemort?"_

 _"Apart from those us who knew of his ancestry? No," said Irina. "The rest of the school knew Tom Riddle as a poor orphan and a star pupil. In fact, he became known as the boy who_ caught _the monster, not controlled it." She saw Lena's questioning look, and explained, "The death of the girl was blamed on another creature, being secretly kept in the castle by a Third Year boy. Riddle had found out about this other creature, you see, and knew it would be a perfect scapegoat if he needed one. So he told the Headmaster about this boy and the creature, and everyone was told that the culprit had been found." She snorted. "Riddle even got an award for 'Special Services to the School', or something like that. And only the half-a-dozen or so of us ever knew the truth."_

 _"What happen to the boy who everyone else blamed?" inquired Lena. "And did you ever find out what kind of creature Slytherin's monster is?"_

 _"The boy was expelled," Irina told Lena, "and no, we never found out. But I imagine it's still there at Hogwarts, hidden away in the Chamber."_

 _"But Voldemort's the only one who can release it," observed Lena. "Because he's the last of Slytherin's line."_

 _"Yes," agreed Irina. "And if he is truly gone – which I'm not saying he is," she hastily added upon seeing Lena's glare, "than the Chamber of Secrets is closed forever."_

Now Lena knew for sure Voldemort was not gone. But she was also pretty damn sure he wasn't back at Hogwarts. She found it difficult to believe that Dumbledore would miss Voldemort right under his nose two years in a row.

But then who could have opened the Chamber of Secrets? Was somebody at Hogwarts a distant cousin of Voldemort, an unknown descendant of Slytherin? She was struggling to find another plausible possibility.

There was a sudden tightening in her navel as a thought occurred to her. He couldn't have had a child, could he? A secret heir to the Dark Lord? The very thought that there could be someone at Hogwarts who could call Voldemort their father made Lena simultaneously want to vomit and punch something very hard.

' _No_ ," she told herself vehemently. 'There's no way he had a child. He _wouldn't_."

She closed her eyes and did her best to shove the unwelcome thought to the deep recesses of her mind. Only when she had achieved this at an adequate level did she open her eyes again, the words on the wall being the first thing she saw.

Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair. It looked like this was going to be another year of questions and unease on her mind.

Lena glanced at her watch. There were still several hours until her DADA class with the Slytherins and Rolf would begin. She had to admit to herself that the whole idea was going better than she had expected. Her classmates could now do non-verbal basic defense spells with relative ease, and they were progressing well with the more complicated hexes and jinxes she'd been teaching them, even Flint. She had been planning to start looking at some of the dark creatures they'd never learned about in their previous years in the next few weeks.

Now, however, she had a feeling that after the events of last night, she might need to adjust the lesson plan for today.

* * *

 _Wednesday 16 December, 1992:_

The first thing Lena noticed when she woke up was that she was still wearing her school uniform and shoes. Groggily, she sat up and looked around, and saw that Mortimer was staring at her from the bedside table. Next to him was a note.

Yawning a hello to the bowtruckle, she picked up the note.

 _You passed out again, and were lying on the floor when I came in after dinner. I levitated you onto the bed. You were still out cold when I woke up this morning, so I figured I probably shouldn't wake you. Don't worry, I promise to pay attention in class so I can tell you what you miss._

Maggie's handwriting was even messier than usual, so Lena assumed she'd woken up late and had been in a rush.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. It was the first time since beginning the new school year that she'd passed out like that. But since the opening of the Chamber and subsequent attack on a First Year Muggle-born, her sleeping habits had returned to their damaging state.

She tried to recall the previous night. She could remember beginning to feel lightheaded during dinner, and recognising that as the sign of imminent unconsciousness, had left the Great Hall and made her way straight back to the Slytherin Dungeon, desperate not to pass out in a corridor where anyone could find her. She couldn't actually remember arriving at her dormitory, but apparently she had done so.

Her watch read 9:47am, which Lena thought wasn't too bad. So far, she'd only missed Ancient Runes. She could make it to the next subject.

Then she remembered that the next subject was Defense Against the Dark Arts.

'On the other hand,' thought Lena, 'I could probably do with a shower and some breakfast.'

Leaving the kitchens after a filling breakfast of croissants and fruit specially prepared for her by Tizzy the house-elf, Lena decided to just go straight back to her dormitory to finish an Arithmancy essay due the next day. There were still fifteen minutes left of DADA, but she couldn't be bothered to go. An extended spare period seemed like a better use of time.

Thinking about what would be a nice, punchy ending to her essay, Lena was just about to descend the staircase leading to the dungeons when she was snapped out of her thoughts by someone calling out her name.

"Miss Lestrange!"

Lena spun around to see Professor McGonagall prowling towards her, and couldn't help but be reminded of the Transfiguration teacher's animagus.

She fixed a pleasant smile on her face. "Professor, how many I help you?"

Coming to stop about a metre away from her, McGonagall ever so slightly narrowed her eyes. "You can tell me why you're wandering the corridors instead of attending your Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

Lena quirked an eyebrow, a little surprised. "That's very impressive, Professor."

McGonagall furrowed her brow. "What is?"

"To know what subject I'm supposed to be in right now," said Lena. "Have you memorised every student's timetable?"

McGonagall snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Lestrange." She folded her arms, fixing Lena with a disapproving stare. "I happen to know where you should be right now because I've just come from your class."

Lena couldn't stop the corners of her lips turning up. "And I assume you were in our class for some administrative reason, and not because our dear Defense professor has yet again released some sort of not-especially-threatening-but-quite-irritating-and-potentially-destructive magical creature?"

"No." There was a pregnant pause before McGonagall said flatly, "It was a mispronounced spell and a lot of temporarily blinded students this time."

Lena smiled sweetly. "Professor Lockhart really is a marvel."

"Yes," said McGonagall through gritted teeth. "He really is."

For a moment, something unspoken passed between Lena and Professor McGonagall, some kind of shared sympathy. A 'Yes, I can't believe we have to put up with that imbecile either'.

The moment passed when McGonagall cleared her throat. "Anyhow, I believe I asked you, Miss Lestrange, why you weren't in class."

"I'm afraid I overslept, Professor," said Lena. "And instead of going to Defense Against the Dar Arts, I thought my time would be better spent by eating breakfast and working on an assignment for another subject."

McGonagall blinked. "I see," she said finally. "Well, thank you for your... honesty, Lestrange, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to-"

"Put me in detention," finished Lena, nodding sagely. "I understand, Professor. What time would suit you best?"

McGonagall eyed her strangely. When at last she did speak, it was a sudden change of topic. "Your friends Miss Skelton and Mr Scamander did very well in their OWLs."

This time it was Lena's turn to be wrong-footed. "I- I beg your pardon?"

"They did very well in their OWLs," repeated McGonagall. "Much better than I was expecting – in all their subjects."

Lena was still flummoxed. "Erm, yes, I suppose they did."

McGonagall took a step closer to Lena. "I wonder, Lestrange, what, after four years, could be the catalyst for this remarkable sudden improvement in their academic work?" Before Lena could reply, McGonagall changed the trajectory of the conversation yet again. "You received Outstanding on all your OWLs, did you not, Miss Lestrange?"

Still trying to wrap her head around what was happening, Lena nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"A wonderful achievement," remarked McGonagall with a thin-lipped smile. "I do believe I haven't offered you my congratulations on it yet."

"Oh, well-"

"Congratulations, Miss Lestrange. Very well done."

"Er, thank you?" Lena inwardly cringed as it came out more as a question than an acknowledgement.

"Now, about this detention–"

'Merlin,' thought Lena, 'I think I'm getting conversational whiplash.'

"–Tomorrow evening, Professor Lockhart has decided to hold a meeting for a Duelling Club."

' _Seriously, what the fuck is going on?'_

"Professor Snape has offered to help supervise," continued McGonagall, seemingly oblivious to Lena's confused, internal dialogue, "but what with the... present situation Hogwarts is facing, I assume there will be a large number of students attending."

"Naturally," interjected Lena, attempting to appear as though she perfectly understood what McGonagall was getting at.

"All those young students, learning basic offensive and defensive spells – I'm sure you understand my concerns."

"Oh, I'm sure I do."

"Excellent. I will inform Professor Snape you'll be assisting him with the supervision, then."

"Right. Sorry, what?"

It was uncanny how similar McGonagall's smile was to the one Lena had given her when she'd first turned around. "That is how you will be serving your detention, Miss Lestrange. Supervising the Duelling Club tomorrow evening."

Lena struggled to conceal an aghast expression. Teaching her housemates was one thing, but younger students? Not to mention she would be working with Snape, who still clearly despised her, even though it had been over a since she'd trashed his office.

"But Professor, surely that's not really equivalent to a detention," Lena tried to reason, but McGonagall stopped her.

"Nonsense, Lestrange. I believe that your – what was that so eloquent phrase you used earlier? Ah, yes – your _time would be better spent_ helping your Head of House and fellow students instead of writing lines, or some other standard detention activity."

Lena stared at the Transfiguration teacher, who was looking back at her with an expression that seemed to be _daring_ Lena to keep arguing with her, and Lena couldn't help but feel an admiration for McGonagall. It had become such a rare experience for someone to put Lena on the back foot, and McGonagall had done it almost effortlessly.

So she gave in. "Of course, Professor."

"Good," said McGonagall, the air of satisfaction hard to miss. "I look forward to hearing from Professor Snape about your invaluable assistance." She turned around and began to stride away.

Lena stared at her retreating back, then called out, "So, do I go to Defense, or..."

McGonagall slowed down, and looked over her shoulder. "I'll leave that up to your discretion, Miss Lestrange." She turned a corner, disappearing from view.

'Well,' thought Lena, staring at the spot where she'd last seen McGonagall, ' _that_ happened.'

* * *

The next evening found Lena in the Great Hall, watching the arrival of young students who were nervous and excited to learn about the art of duelling. Most of them looked to be in the First, Second and Third Years.

Lena internally sighed. Considering the fact that many of these kids had only had Quirrell and Lockhart for DADA teachers, she couldn't really see this going well. Now, she understood why McGonagall had wanted an extra wand and pair of eyes there this evening.

It had taken her a few hours, but Lena also thought she understood why McGonagall had decided that Lena should be that extra supervisor. Clearly, McGonagall had figured out that Lena had started helping Maggie and Rolf with their schoolwork and this, combined with the fact that there hadn't been an _incident_ with another student since her Fourth Year, meant that the professor probably thought that Lena had turned over a new leaf, or something like that, and that trusting her with this extra responsibility was an effort to nurture this improved version of Lena.

Or McGonagall just really didn't like Lena, and had correctly assumed that making her babysit a bunch of kids and an incompetent buffoon of a teacher was a way to make her miserable.

Lena was in a corner of the Hall, leaning against the wall opposite to the side where a golden stage had been erected. Most of the kids were too distracted by the change of furniture and the stage to notice her presence, although she had received a few curious looks.

Neville Longbottom had also seen her. They'd locked eyes for a second, before he had quickly looked away and moved to stand on the opposite side of the Hall.

Now, another newcomer caught Lena's eye: Harry Potter. He was with his two friends, Weasley and Granger. It was the latter of them who noticed Lena first. In response, Lena raised an eyebrow and gave her a sarcastic little wave. Granger hastily averted her eyes, and nudged Potter, whispering something to him. He immediately turned to look at Lena. Even from across the Hall, Lena could sense the curiosity radiating off of him.

They hadn't spoken since that time in Knockturn Alley. As far as she could tell, he hadn't made any effort to speak to her again, and Lena had likewise kept her distance, even though the fact that a rogue bludger had seemingly attempted to murder him during the Gryffindor-Slytherin game had been incredibly intriguing to her.

She maintained eye contact with Potter until he was pulled by his friends into the crowd of students gathering before the stage, and decided that she was definitely going to make a special effort to 'supervise' his attempts at duelling.

She was drawn out of her Potter-ponderings by Lockhart and Snape making their way onto the stage. Snape appeared to be searching the audience for someone in particular. When his eyes met Lena's, she realised that it was her. Lena met his gaze with a cool indifference, wondering how much of a protest he had put up against McGonagall when she had informed him of Lena's 'punishment'.

They both broke their eye contact when Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!"

"Merlin give me strength," muttered Lena to herself as Lockhart continued his introductory speech. A whole evening with Lockhart and Snape. What joy.

Snape clearly wasn't having a ball either. Lena watched with mild amusement as his upper lip curled when Lockhart referred to him as his assistant.

They were starting off with a demonstration of a duel, although Lena couldn't imagine it was going to be a particularly good demonstration on Lockhart's end.

The two teachers turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course. One – two – three–"

Both of them swung their wands up and over their shoulders. Snape cried: _"Expelliarmus!"_ There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: he flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Lena cocked her head, almost impressed. That was some Disarming Charm – certainly one with bit of pent-up anger behind it.

Whispers and titters ran through the crowd of students as Lockhart unsteadily rose to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm – as you see, I've lost my wand – ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see..."

Lena found herself wondering if Lockhart knew Snape had once been a Death Eater, and if not, whether he might consider being a little less of a prick to him if someone were to mention it to him.

She didn't have much time to dwell on it, because Lockhart and Snape had started to partner up the students. She saw Snape reach Potter and his friends, and then call over Malfoy and another Slytherin. He partnered her cousin with Potter.

'Well, this I have to see,' thought Lena, and pushed herself off the wall and began to slowly walk towards the crowd of students.

But Lockhart, who had climbed back onto the platform, noticed her movement, and appeared to decide this would be the perfect time to officially announce her presence.

"Ah, yes, before we begin," he called out, "as well as Professor Snape and myself, I'd also like to introduce Miss Lestrange of the Sixth Year!" He waved a hand towards Lena, and every face in the hall turned to her.

Lena came to a stop. For the briefest of moments she considered giving them all a reassuring smile, but decided against this, and instead went for her usual emotionless mask and a nod of acknowledgement.

"Miss Lestrange," continued Lockhart, with an unusually forced smile, "is also here to assist, and if you should feel the need for help, just give her a shout, you'll find she's very..." he looked at Lena for a moment, and swallowed, "capable."

She could still feel many pairs of eyes on her. Potter and Malfoy were just a few yards away from her. Potter's expression was curious; Malfoy's was suspicious.

"Now," cried Lockhart, drawing the attention of the room back to him, "face your partners, and bow!"

Lena watched as Potter and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other. She wondered what exactly had gone down between the two of them in the past year and a bit to spring up such an intense dislike and distrust.

"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent – _only_ to disarm them – we don't want any accidents."

Lena stared up in disbelief at Lockhart. Seriously? He thought that one demonstration of him getting blasted off the stage with a ridiculously overpowered _Expelliarmus_ was all a bunch of children needed to learn how to duel, and was now just going to let them have at it? She looked across to Snape, but he didn't seem particularly concerned by the prospect of horrifically injured students.

Meanwhile, Lockhart was counting them in. "One... two..."

'Oh, sweet mother of Merlin,' Lena said to herself before all hell broke loose.

The young Malfoy had already starting casting his spell on 'two', so by the time Lockhart reached "three", his spell had hit Potter, who stumbled back. Around them, Lena could see that Granger had successfully disarmed a Slytherin girl – who due to her troll-like resemblance , Lena assumed was related to the Bulstrode in her year – but the girl didn't seem particularly perturbed by the loss of her wand, and instead barrelled towards Granger, who was clearly not expecting this tactic and stared at her opponent, stunned, as she crashed into her.

Raising her wand to separate the girls, Lena suddenly sensed a misaimed _Flipendo_ coming her way and dropped to the ground. It flew over her, mere inches above her head. She looked in the direction from where it came, and saw it had been cast by Longbottom's partner, a Hufflepuff boy, who didn't even have to move to avoid the feeble streams of sparks sent in his vague direction by Longbottom.

Getting back to her feet, Lena noticed that Potter had hit Malfoy with a Tickling Charm, and for some idiotic reason was just standing there, watching his opponent kneel on the floor, hysterically laughing. An explosion coming somewhere from her left distracted her from their duel. After a second, she found the source of the explosion – Weasley's wand, which appeared to be held together by a wad of Spell-o-tape. His partner, another Gryffindor boy, was staggering back, shell-shocked.

Concerned about what else that broken wand might do, Lena moved to confiscate it, but stopped when Weasley lowered his wand and ran over to help the other boy. What was a more pressing matter she decided, was that Granger's opponent had her in a headlock, and looked like she would snap the Gryffindor's neck at any moment. Hurriedly, Lena flicked her wand at them and the two girls were pulled apart by an invisible force.

She could hear Lockhart screaming, "Stop! Stop!"

'Oh, that's _super_ helpful!' thought Lena angrily, turning to Potter who was maniacally dancing. Malfoy was watching him malevolently, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by his shrieks of laughter.

She saw Snape standing on the opposite side of Potter and Malfoy's duel, and their eyes locked. Snape gave her a curt nod, which was all the instruction Lena needed.

Together, they raised their wands and shouted, _"Finite Incantatem!"_

Potter's feet stopped dancing and Malfoy stopped laughing; they both looked around at the scene of pandemonium surrounding them, as did Lena. She noticed that above the students there was a haze of greenish smoke.

Then she heard the voice of the moron who had green lit the whole mess.

"Dear, dear. Up you get, Macmillian... careful there, Miss Fawcet... pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot..."

Lena glared at Lockhart as weaved in and out of the crowd. He saw Lena, and raised his voice.

"Really, Miss Lestrange, I thought you were here to prevent this sort of thing from happening."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Snape stiffen. He opened his mouth to say something to Lockhart, but Lena beat him to it.

"Well, _Professor_ ," she said, her voice venomous enough to match the rest of her cobra-ready-to-strike demeanour, "I thought _you_ were here to teach these students how to defend themselves, not to get thrown against a wall like an utterly useless _twat_. So I guess this evening didn't live up to either of our expectations."

The entirety of the Great Hall was silent now as they stared at Lena in fascination, having never seen a student address a teacher in such a manner.

Lockhart spluttered in indignation. "Miss – Miss Lestrange, th-that is _quite–"_

"I have a suggestion, _Professor_ ," said Lena over the top of him, making her way to the stage. "Why don't we continue with your preferred method of demonstration: I'll send a lot of hexes and jinxes your way, and you can get hit by them–"

"I think," interrupted Snape loudly," that a better idea might be to teach the students how to block those spells."

"Yes!" cried Lockhart hastily. "Yes, excellent, let's do that."

Lena, stopping at the foot of the stage, turned to Lockhart, baring her teeth in a predatory smile. "Yes, let's do that."

Lockhart took one look at Lena's face, and panic-stricken, shouted in desperation, "How about a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over to Lockhart. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest of spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox."

Personally, Lena thought after witnessing their duel and the quality of the boys' aims, that Finch-Fletchley probably would have been the safest person in the room if he was the one Neville was trying to hit.

"How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, obviously relieved that he'd avoided been Lena's target practise.

Lena, on the other hand, felt like a small child whose Christmas present had just been confiscated.

Lockhart gestured to Potter and Malfoy to move into the middle of the Hall. The crowd backed away to give them room. Lena unapologetically pushed her way to the centre of the room, reaching Potter just as Lockhart was telling him, "Now, Harry, when Draco points his wand at you, you do _this_." He raised his wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action and dropped it.

"Yes, Potter," said Lena, and the boy turned to look up at her, surprised. "Drop your wand at the beginning of the duel, that's a brilliant defensive manoeuvre."

Lockhart, who was picking up his wand, glared up at her. "Obviously, I didn't-"

"I think Potter might want advice on how to defend himself from some who hasn't been thrown into a wall today, Professor," said Lena coolly.

"Yes please," said Potter quickly.

Lockhart made a small, huffing noise, and moved to stand so he was an equal distance away from both boys.

Snape was eyeing Lena with distrust, and moved closer to Malfoy, who couldn't disguise his anger that his cousin was offering help to his mortal enemy.

While Snape was bending down and whispering something in Malfoy's ear, Potter asked her, "So, what do I do?"

"You point your wand directly at him, and say _Expelliarmus_ in a clear loud voice," Lena told him quietly. "And you say with it confidence." A thought occurred to her. "Actually, you hate that little git, don't you?" she indicated to Malfoy, who was smirking at Potter, with a jerk of her head.

Potter raised his eyebrows. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

"When you're casting the spell, think about how much you despise him," murmured Lena. "The stronger an emotion, the stronger the effect of a spell."

Potter appeared to be intrigued by this, and opened his mouth to ask another question, but was distracted when Malfoy called over to him, "Scared?"

Potter glared back at him. "You wish."

Seeing that Lockhart was about to begin the countdown, Lena stepped away from Potter. "Good luck," she muttered to him.

"Thanks," he said out of the corner of his mouth, not taking his eyes off Malfoy.

Lockhart shouted, "Three – two – one –go!"

Both boys raised their wands at the same time, but before Potter could get the word out, Malfoy had bellowed, " _Serpentsortia!"_

Shocked, Lena gave Snape a sharp look. The Snake Summoning Charm was something older students taught to younger Slytherins at the end of their First Year, a sort of rite-of-passage, initiation thing, and also a reward for making it through their first year in the Snakes' nest.

But casting it here, in front of so many students from other houses, while there was a school-wide panic about _Slytherin's_ monster prowling around the school, seemed like an incredibly stupid thing to do. But Snape was too busy watching Potter's horrified face to notice Lena looking at him.

She frowned. There was no way she was imagining it – Snape was clearly getting a kick out of Potter's fear. She pointed her wand towards to the long black snake which lay in-between the two duellers, raising itself to strike, causing screams from the crowd as the students backed away swiftly.

Before she could cast the spell to get rid of the snake, Snape suddenly spoke up.

"Don't move, Potter," he said lazily as Potter stood motionless, eye to eye with an angry snake. "I'll get rid of it..."

Then the next worse thing to the snake killing Potter happened –

"Allow me!"

Both Lena and Snape's eyes snapped to Lockhart.

"Don't-" snarled Lena, but she was too late – the Defense teacher brandished his wand and there was a loud bang: the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight towards the Finch-Fletchley boy, and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Now that the snake had come to a halt, Lena was able to get a clear shot at it. But yet again she was interrupted – but by something she would never, ever have expected.

It had been twelve years since she'd last heard the language spoken, but what came of out Potter' s mouth was unmistakably Parseltongue.

The snake immediately slumped to the floor, its eyes now on Potter.

Lena stared disbelievingly at the Boy-Who-Lived as he grinned at Finch-Fletchley.

 _'How_?' was all she could think. " _How the fuck is he a Parselmouth?"_

"What do you think you're playing at?" shouted Finch-Fletchley, pulling Lena out of her stupor. She frowned, watching the boy storm out of the Hall.

Potter's expression was bewildered, and for some reason, of all people, he turned to look at Lena in his confusion. "What... I don't–"

Meanwhile, Snape had stepped forward. He waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of smoke, all the while looking at Potter with a shrewd and calculating look. Ominous muttering came from all around, and Lena made a split decision. She subtly pointed her wand upward, and made a non-verbal incantation.

A thick, opaque, dark blue smoke sudden filled the hall, making it impossible to see anything. Screams of panic started up, but Lena paid them no heed, moving straight towards where she knew Potter to be, and grabbed the back of his robes. As Snape shouted out for everyone to remain calm, Lena muttered to Potter, "Come on."

Potter made no reply as Lena pushed him forward, maintaining a grip on his robes, and made a beeline to the teachers' exit of the Great Hall.

* * *

 **Whoo, you've finished the chapter! (Hopefully. Maybe you just got bored and scrolled to the end to see how much more there was, and are feeling discouraged by the answer. I hope that's not the case. If it is, I apologise profusely.)**

 **So you might be questioning my decision to have Irina know so much about Riddle's opening of the Chamber back in 1942-3. If you are, then let me know, and I'll be happy to explain why I made that choice in the AN of the next chapter.**

 **Also, I think I should just mention I really didn't want to cut out Harry's, "What, drop my wand?" line from the Duelling Club, because it's one of my favourite Harry moments, but including it meant significantly reworking that part of the chapter, and I think this was delayed enough already.**

 **In any case, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and were left wanting to read the next one. I'm significantly condensing CoS because I'm sure most of you would like to get to PoA and finally see Remus (trust me, so do I). I promise I haven't just lured you into this story under false pretences - he is going to be the other main character in this story. Once he's in it. Which will happen. Soon.**


	13. When Past and Present Collide

**Sorry! Once again, this took update way too long, and no one is more annoyed about that than myself. The problem was that I had a very specific idea of where I wanted to be, story-wise, for the chapter directly after this, but getting there was more difficult that I had anticipated. I had to rewrite sections of this chapter multiple times, particularly because they were initially quite self-indulgent writing, and I knew if I had been reading someone else's work, I would have been highly critical of it.  
**

 **This is the longest chapter so far, which is great if that's your sort of thing. If it's not, then I can only apologise and hope you don't find it too arduous. In any case, I'll stop blathering now, and let you get on with your reading (there's another author's note at the end of this chapter, if that interests you).**

 **Hope you like it!**

* * *

 _Thursday 17 December, 1992:_

Harry was finally able to see again when he stumbled out of the smoke-filled Great Hall and into an unfamiliar corridor. He turned around to see Lestrange shutting the door behind her, a few tendrils of blue smoke escaping the confines of the Hall.

She met Harry's gaze for a brief moment, an odd look on her face. Then she set off down the corridor, calling back to him, "Come on."

Harry had to run a few steps to catch up to her. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around.

"Teachers' entrance and exit to the Hall."

Harry looked back at the door they'd came through. "And the blue smoke, was that you?"

"Yes."

When no elaboration to her answer was forthcoming, Harry opened his mouth to ask just what was going on, only for Lestrange to come to a sudden halt and turn to the right wall. Directly in front of her was a torch, which she reached up to grab. But instead of taking it out of its holder, she pulled it down like a lever. Harry gaped as the section of the wall next to it swung open like a door, revealing a very narrow spiral staircase. Apparently Lestrange, like Fred and George, was well-acquainted with the secret passages of Hogwarts.

Once again, Lestrange grabbed the back of his robes and pushed him through the opening before he could protest. Standing on the second bottom step, he heard behind him Lestrange also stepping through and shutting the secret door, thrusting the staircase into darkness.

Harry started to say "What's going on-" when a blue light suddenly illuminated the staircase. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Lestrange was holding a large ball of blue flames in one hand, and was pulling her wand out of her pocket with the other. She tapped the banister of the staircase with her wand and without any warning, the stairs shot forward. Harry yelped, and would have fallen backwards if Lestrange's hand hadn't been behind his back to steady him.

This staircase moved much faster than the stairs in the Grand Staircase, and was moving upward in a spiralling fashion, making it an altogether more unpleasant and nauseating experience. Harry desperately wished it would stop, but the stairs were showing no sign of slowing down, and he didn't dare open his mouth to ask Lestrange where they were going in fear of throwing up.

Just when Harry was beginning to wonder if this was how he was going to meet his death, the staircase stopped as suddenly as it had started, and Harry fell forward. Yet again he was saved by Lestrange, who pulled him back upright. Eager to escape the staircase, he noticed a door a little in front of him and unsteadily climbed the last few steps to reach it. He wrenched it open and stepped through with relief, only to find himself surrounded by darkness yet again.

He once again felt Lestrange's hand on his back, this time giving him a much gentler push forward. Suddenly there was light, and Harry could take in his surroundings. They were in a small, semi-circle shaped room, the only furniture two small armchairs with a low round table between them. Hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room was a lamp, which he assumed Lestrange had lit. But the most striking feature of the room was a circular window, about five-feet in diameter, built into the curved wall opposite of the door he had just came through. Harry automatically crossed over to it and looked out. With the moonlight blocked out by the clouds, it was difficult to see outside clearly, but he could just make out the Astronomy Tower, with which they appeared to be level.

"You're a Parselmouth."

Harry spun around. Lestrange had perched herself on the arm of one of the chairs and was looking at him intently.

The word was unfamiliar to Harry. "I'm a what?" he asked.

"A Parselmouth," repeated Lestrange. "You can converse with snakes."

"I know," said Harry, walking over to the armchair opposite to Lestrange. "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidently set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once – long story – but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to. That was before I knew I was a wizard..."

"And once you knew you were a wizard, you never bothered to investigate this ability further?" said Lestrange, quirking an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged. "A lot of weird things happened to me growing up."

"Talk to a lot of animals, did you?" asked Lestrange wryly.

"No, but–"

"You just conflated it with all your other experiences of accidental magic," interrupted Lestrange. She sighed, and rubbed her cheek. Harry was suddenly struck with how tired she looked. He remembered that his first impression of Lestrange, when he'd first seen her over a year ago in the Grand Staircase, was that she appeared unwell. Now, he found himself wondering if there really was something wrong with her, health-wise.

"Lestrange," he asked hesitantly, "are you all right?"

She stared at him blankly for a few seconds, then let out a snort of laughter. "No, not really," she said. "But I'd be more worried about yourself if I was you, Potter."

"Why?" said Harry, confused.

"Because you just revealed to a large portion of the school that you're a Parselmouth."

"So?" said Harry. "I bet loads of people here can do it."

"No, Potter," said Lestrange flatly, "they can't. You see, the ability to speak Parseltongue – the snake language – is incredibly rare. And it's supposed to be hereditary."

"So maybe my mum or dad could speak it," said Harry dismissively. "I can ask Hagrid, he'd probably know."

But Lestrange shook her head. "Your mother was a Muggle-born, so she couldn't have been," she explained. "And if your father was – which seems highly improbable – he did a hell of a job of keeping it secret."

Harry was beginning to feel frustrated. "Then maybe–"

Lestrange cut him off. "I don't think I'm doing a very good job of explaining the situation to you, so let me try and break this down for you. Potter, being a Parselmouth is seen as the mark of a Dark wizard. Even before Salazar Slytherin, there was Herpo the–"

Harry broke in. "Slytherin was one too? A Parselmouth?"

"It's why the symbol of Slytherin house is a serpent," said Lestrange. "And you'll find that the majority of Parselmouths on record in Britain since him have been his descendants. Including the last known Parselmouth to attend Hogwarts." She paused, and stared at Harry with an intensity that made him want to squirm. Then, in a soft voice, she said, "I believe you met him last June."

It took Harry a moment to comprehend this. When he did, he dropped down into the armchair, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. "You mean," he said, his voice suddenly very dry, " _Voldemort_?"

Lestrange nodded slowly. "It's not a well known fact, but yes. So given the history of Parselmouths, are you beginning to understand why everyone reacted the way they did? Obviously, _I_ realised that you were giving the snake a command, and it obeyed, but everyone else had never heard Parseltongue before: they heard you speak it – or rather, _hiss_ it – and panicked, instead of focusing on _what_ you must have said."

"And Justin is a Muggle-born ," said Harry thoughtfully. "He probably wouldn't have understood that I was talking to it, trying to help him." He shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I spoke in a whole different language without realising it." Then part of what Lestrange had said finally registered with Harry, and he frowned. "Hang on, are you saying you've heard someone speak to a snake before?"

Lestrange became very still, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly.

Something clicked into place in Harry's head. "That's why you know Voldemort is a Parselmouth," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You heard him speak it."

Lestrange closed her eyes. When she opened them a second later, it was as though the glass that had encased them had shattered, and Harry was finally seeing clearly what lay behind it. The blue-grey eyes, usually so cold, were filled with a pain that seemed too large for one pair of eyes to hold. But somewhere amongst the pain was something else: an absolute loneliness that Harry recognised only too well – for it was the same loneliness that Harry had used to see in the bright green eyes that looked back at him in the mirror.

"Yes, I knew him." Her voice was quiet, but Harry, after seeing what Lestrange's eyes held, could detect traces of that same pain. "Does that surprise you?"

Harry hesitated. It was one thing to know that her parents had been Voldemort's followers, but he'd never really made any direct connection between his parents' murderer and the girl sitting in front of him."Well," he said at last, "I suppose it shouldn't. Considering your parents..." He trailed off.

Lestrange smiled bitterly. "Yes, considering my parents were two of his most trusted Death Eaters."

This was yet another term unfamiliar to Harry. "Did you say 'death eaters'?" he questioned.

She looked at him oddly. "Yes. As in the name of Voldemort's followers." She moved from the arm of the chair to the actual seat of it. "You didn't know that?"

"I think there's not really that much I _do_ know," Harry replied honestly. "Just that Voldemort hated Muggle-borns, and there was a war where lots of people died, and then one night he came to my parents' house and killed them. But when he tried to kill me, he couldn't, because my mum–" He abruptly stopped, suddenly unsure of whether or not to tell Lestrange what Dumbledore had told him in the Hospital Wing.

But Lestrange didn't push him to finish. Instead, she said, "It must be odd. To know so little about someone who had–" she paused, apparently searching for the right words, "–such a drastic impact on your own life."

Harry had never thought about it like that, but now that Lestrange had said it, he felt she was right. It did seem odd. He really knew next to nothing about his parents' killer – other than what he had seen with his own eyes. He could barely suppress a shudder as he remembered the chalky white face, the demonic red eyes–

"But maybe it's easier that way." Lestrange's gaze had wandered to the window, a pensive expression on her face. "To just think of him as some sort of – of – of personification of evil, a malevolent dark force, instead of an actual person," she mused.

Something about this made Harry feel like he was being challenged by Lestrange. He didn't know if that was her intention; nevertheless, he felt annoyed with himself, and wanted to prove to Lestrange that he wasn't comfortable with his ignorance.

"Then you can tell me more," he said, forcing as much boldness as he could into his voice. "If you knew him, back then."

Lestrange's eyes, icy once again, snapped back to him, and Harry felt his bravado begin to dissipate.

After a few seconds of silence, she spoke, her tone measured. "What do you want to know?"

Harry thought about it. Frightened as he had been by Voldemort, the Dark wizard was clearly a shadow of his former, powerful self. "What did he look like? Before the night he killed my parents?" he asked.

Lestrange's penetrating gaze remained on Harry as she started to twirl a loose tendril of hair around her finger. "A man," she replied. Then she added, "But also something else."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Like what?"

She shrugged. "Just... something else. Something not quite... human." She let go of her hair. "It's not something that can really be explained, only... seen." She bit her lip, as if debating whether to say something. Just as Harry was about to ask her what was the matter, she blurted out, "What does he look like now?"

Unable to restrain himself, Harry snorted. "Definitely 'not quite human'." He told Lestrange what he had seen when Quirrell unwrapped his turban.

Lestrange's expression had returned to unreadable. "That sounds almost..." she hesitated, before finishing, "parasitical.'

About to agree with Lestrange, Harry froze. It was as if somebody had dropped a brick from a very high height, and only now had it hit his head. He stared at Lestrange apprehensively, his whole body tense.

Noticing his change in demeanour, Lestrange tilted her head. "Potter, what is it?" she repeated.

"I only told Ron and Hermione that Voldemort was there that night," said Harry slowly. "All the other students just think that is was Quirrell who tried to steal the Stone. How did you know that Voldemort was there too?"

The blank mask firmly in place, Lestrange's expression gave away nothing when she replied, "I have a reliable source of information here at Hogwarts. That source overheard McGonagall discussing the whole... event, with Sprout, and then told me."

This did little to quell Harry's unease, but the very careful way in which Lestrange chose her words prompted Harry to believe that this was all she was going to say on the subject. This was confirmed only more by Lestrange checking her watch.

"You need to be getting back to the Gryffindor Tower, it's almost curfew," she said, standing up.

Harry blinked, as if waking from a stupor. No doubt Ron and Hermione would be out of their minds with concern for him – and all the while he'd just been sitting in a comfy armchair, having an illuminating chat with Lena Lestrange. The last they'd seen of him was Harry revealing he was a Parselmouth to a significant section of the student population.

"Potter?" Lestrange was watching him closely. "We should go."

"People are going to think I'm the heir of Slytherin, aren't they?" said Harry quietly as he stood up too.

Lestrange hesitated for a moment, then slightly nodded her head. "I imagine so," she said, her voice soft, but matter-of-fact. "What happened at the Duelling Club will have spread around the entire school by tomorrow morning. And with the atmosphere of fear engulfing Hogwarts at the moment..." She gave him a twisted smile. "Well, being afraid tends to makes people think... irrationally."

Last year, Harry had experienced what it felt like to be hated by a large group of people, after he, Hermione and Neville had lost Gryffindor 150 points in one night. But to be feared by people...

"We're going to find out who it really is," he said suddenly, with such a fierce determination that even Lestrange looked taken aback for a moment.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you now?" she said lightly.

"Yeah," said Harry, thinking about the Polyjuice Potion, and the visit they intended on paying Draco Malfoy. "Hermione, Ron and me – we have a plan. And I reckon we'll know who it is soon."

Saying nothing at first, Lestrange simply stared at him. Harry resisted the urge to shiver under her scrutiny. Finally, she said, "You're not one to sit by and let things works themselves out, are you, Potter?"

"No," said Harry firmly. "I'm not."

Lestrange cocked her head, the twisted smile once again gracing her face. "An attribute I very much admire," she said. "I wish you and your friends good luck." She gestured to the door. "But now, I think it really is time for us to go." She walked over and opened it, looking back at Harry. "After you."

Harry made his way over, his stomach slightly churning at the thought of going back down that staircase. The ascent hadn't been a particularly pleasant experience. He stopped at the doorway, staring down into the darkness.

"I'll be right behind you," said Lestrange softly, and Harry felt oddly reassured as he went down the first couple of steps.

He was thrust into blackness once again as Lestrange extinguished the room's light and shut the door. For a second Harry felt totally alone. Then her hand firmly grasped his shoulder.

"So do you think it made its way to Brazil, or is there still a boa constrictor slithering loose around London?"

Harry couldn't help himself; he laughed.

* * *

 _Monday 21 December, 1992:_

"And lastly, I'll just need your signature here."

Lena took the proffered document from Mr Inglebee, and briefly scanned it. Deciding it was all in order, she picked up the quill, dipped it in the inkwell, and signed it. She passed the document back to Mr Inglebee, who gave it a quick onceover, then stamped it firmly with the Ministry's seal.

"That's everything?" Lena asked him, her calm voice disguising the fact that her heart was racing.

Mr Inglebee nodded. "You are now officially the sole owner of the Lestrange Estate." He picked up one of the documents she had signed earlier and neatly rolled it up. He reached down behind his desk, pulling out a dark blue canister. He carefully placed the scroll in the canister and passed it to Lena. "Here is your copy of the property deed."

Putting the canister in her bag, Lena nodded. "Excellent."Closing the bag, she stood up, her movement matched by Mr Inglebee. She extended her hand, which after half-a-second's hesitation he took. "Thank you for your time, Mr Inglebee," she said as they shook.

Mr Inglebee cleared his throat. "Of course," he replied, letting go of her hand. "I wish you a pleasant day."

"Likewise," said Lena, and with a final nod, exited his office, shutting the door behind her. Upon it was a small gold plaque that read _Josiah Inglebee, Office of Property Legislation._

She was on Level Two of the Ministry of Magic Headquarters, but despite it being ten-past-twelve on a Monday, the corridor was empty. Apparently, everybody was hard at work in their offices.

As she strode to the lift, Lena found it difficult to tear her eyes away from her reflection in the lift's doors. She barely recognised herself. The long black hair, usually so carelessly done, was pinned up in an exceptionally neat bun. Her new black overcoat (a birthday gift from Valeriya) fit her rake-thin frame in a surprisingly flattering away, and she had exchanged her worn ankle boots for a pair of gleaming black high heels. But the biggest change was that her face was covered in makeup that made her look – well, like a healthy human being, instead of someone mere minutes away from death.

The makeover had been Valeriya's suggestion. According to her, if Lena wanted to go to the Ministry and stake her claim to be the full and sole owner of the Lestrange House and its surrounding property – which now, having come-of-age, she could – then she should look like someone "who actually lived in a house". Lena had taken the insinuation that her usual appearance resembled a tramp on the chin, and had attired herself accordingly to her aunt's advice.

The lift ride back down to the Atrium was uneventful, if not oddly enjoyable to Lena – there was always something nice about being away from Hogwarts and being able to walk around without the notoriety that was attached to her at school.

She made her way through the Atrium, which was considerably more busy than the corridor on Level Two, and departed using the Visitor's Entrance. She emerged out of the telephone box into the street, a gust of cold wind hitting her face. Lena stood still for a moment, just taking in the fresh, cold air. Then she set off in the direction of Charing Cross Road.

It had certainly been quite a morning for Lena – and one with a fair bit of paperwork. Before she had gone to the Ministry, she had been to Gringotts to claim her sole right to the Lestrange Vault.

According to British Wizarding Law, there were only two circumstances in which the progeny of a still-living wizard or witch could take possession of their parent's assets – in the case of lifetime imprisonment, or permanent mental incapacitation. If either of these situations were applicable, then once the child came-of-age, they could stake their claim. Lena had filed her application in the name of the former – although she personally thought the latter circumstance was just as valid.

Prior to this day, Lena's access to the Lestrange Vault had to be heavily monitored by both her guardian and a Gringotts' employee. Now, her financial situation was entirely under her control.

She finally reached the Leaky Cauldron. As she walked through to the entrance to Diagon Alley, she could feel Tom the barman's eyes follow her warily. No doubt her change in apparel had raised some curiosity within him, but he said nothing. He rarely ever did, despite the regularity with which Lena entered and left his pub during the school holidays.

Lena tapped the pattern out on the bricks, and Diagon Alley appeared before her. It wasn't as crowded as it usually was during summer, but there were a still fair number of wizards and witches strolling up and down the street. Lena assumed quite a few of them were trying to cross items off their Christmas shopping lists.

Knockturn Alley was less busy, but there were still several residents and patrons of the shops out in the narrow street to give Lena odd looks, which she either ignored or acknowledged with an icy stare. Before she knew it, she'd arrived back at her and Valeriya's flat.

"It's all done, then?" said Valeriya, not looking up from the kitchen table at which she was sitting. Sheets of parchment and notebooks were spread out in front of her. Lena suspected she was updating her accounts.

"Yes, both the vault and the house," answered Lena, walking to her bedroom. She removed the overcoat and lay it on her bed, smiling as Mortimer, who appeared to have just woken from a nap, scuttled over to greet her. "Hey," she whispered, holding out her hand, and the bowtruckle climbed on to it.

"When are you going to the house to redo all the protective enchantments?" Valeriya called out.

Lena put Mortimer onto her shoulder. "I was thinking later this afternoon," replied Lena, kicking off her shoes. She sighed with relief once her feet were flat on the ground again, and decided that high-heels were not going to become a regular choice of footwear.

She walked back out to the kitchen, where Valeriya was holding out an envelope.

"Before I forget – a letter came for you while you were out," she said.

Lena took the proffered item and tore it open. Unfolding the enclosed letter, she sat down opposite her aunt. "It's from Rolf," she told Valeriya, scanning the letter. "Newt's invited me to have lunch with their family on Christmas Day." She looked up at Valeriya. "Would you mind?"

Valeriya, already refocussing on her bookkeeping, waved a hand carelessly. "Of course not, go."

"Thanks," murmured Lena, still reading the letter. The corners of her lips turned up slightly. It seemed that Rolf's excitement about Christmas did not diminish from year to year.

"I thought we'd just have the leftover soup for lunch." Valeriya's voice pulled Lena away from Rolf's words, and she looked over at the stove, upon which sat a pot. "Unless you wanted to go out again and–"

"Soup's fine," interrupted Lena.

Valeriya nodded, still engrossed in her work. "Should be hot enough in five minutes or so. How are you planning on getting to the house this afternoon?"

Lena shrugged. "I guess I'll take the Knight Bus. Why?"

Valeriya finally put down her quill and looked up at Lena. "I thought that perhaps you could Side-Apparate along with me, and once all the... housekeeping, is in order, it might be a good opportunity to start teaching you Apparition."

"Apparition?" said Lena, furrowing her brow. "But I'll start lessons back at Hogwarts next month."

Valeriya arched an eyebrow. "I assumed that, like every other part of your education, you would want to get a start on it before the rest of your peers. And the Estate would be a good place for lessons – private, but big enough to provide you some challenges once you grasp the basics."

"Oh." It was an unexpected offer, but one for which Lena was grateful. "Thank you."

Picking up her quill again, Valeriya nodded. "I should be done with all of this in another hour. Shall we say departure at two o'clock?"

"Sure," replied Lena, her head slightly spinning.

"By the way, were you planning on connecting the house to the Floo Network?"

"Erm, no, not at present," said Lena distractedly. Claiming the Lestrange Vault and beginning Apparition lessons was enough to make one day momentous – but on top of that, it would be the first time in over eleven years that Lena had set foot in the Lestrange House. And in the house resided her childhood bedroom, where for almost two years she had spent every Friday afternoon receiving lessons from Lord Voldemort.

She rubbed her cheek tiredly. For so many years, Voldemort had loomed in the back of Lena's mind like a shadow – constant, but manageable. But ever since looking in that damn Mirror, it was like he was right in front of her, no matter which way she turned.

The conversation she'd had with Potter after the Duelling Club had made her old teacher's presence particularly felt – especially when the boy had recounted his meeting with Voldemort six months ago.

There had been another attack the day after that conversation. The victims had been the ghost Nearly Headless Nick and Justin Finch-Fletchley – the boy who had nearly been attacked by the young Malfoy's conjured snake. By the evening, the rumour had spread throughout the entire school: Harry Potter was the heir of Slytherin, and responsible for all the Petrifications.

Lena wondered how Potter was doing at the moment. If he had stayed at Hogwarts over the break, there wouldn't be many other students there, so it might not have been so bad for him. But once they all returned in the New Year – well, she didn't doubt there would be some unpleasant encounters for him.

She was curious as to what the 'plan' for discovering the identity of the heir exactly was. Evidently, if he and his friends had been capable of finding out about the Philosopher's Stone and getting through the teachers' obstacles last year, they were certainly more competent than most children their age were. But Lena found it difficult to believe that the three Second Years would be able to solve the mystery and capture the culprit all by their selves.

"Soup should be ready now."

Lena blinked, snapped back to reality by the mundane announcement.

"I'll get some bowls," she told Valeriya, standing up and going over to the crockery cupboard. As fascinating as Harry Potter was proving to be, today wasn't the day for dwelling upon him – there were plenty of other things to occupy her mind.

A momentous day indeed.

* * *

 _Sunday 28 February, 1993:_

It wasn't until the end of February that Lena discovered what Potter's plan had been, and by that time, his Muggle-born friend had become another one of Slytherin's monster's victims.

Lena had just left the Great Hall after lunch when she'd heard the sound of someone running towards her. Turning around, she'd come face to face with Potter, who'd asked if they could talk. For a moment, Lena had simply stared at the boy's face; it just seemed so... lost.

"Of course," she had finally replied, which is how she found herself walking to the edge of the Forbidden Forest with Harry Potter by her side, telling her the intriguing story of how he, Weasley and Granger had brewed the Polyjuice Potion.

"And Snape was positive that it was me who caused Goyle's Swelling Solution to explode, but there wasn't any way he could prove it," Potter was saying. "Mind you," he added, "even if it _hadn't_ been me, I bet he still would have blamed me. Prick," he muttered under his breath.

Lena snorted. "You're telling me," she said. "I saved the greasy twat's life, and he still looks at me as if he can barely stomach the sight."

"Snape doesn't like you?" asked Potter, puzzled. "I thought he only hated students who _weren't_ in Slytherin."

"Yes, well," said Lena wryly, "I'm something of an exception to the rule."

"But when did you save his life?" questioned Potter.

"The Halloween before last," answered Lena. "When Quirrell let in the mountain troll. Snape went to check on the trapdoor, but almost got mauled to death by the three-headed dog."

"Fluffy," said Potter automatically. Lena gave him a strange look. "The dog's name," he hastily explain. "Hagrid called it Fluffy."

Lena rolled her eyes. "That seems about right. Well, I went to the third-floor corridor too, just in time–" She broke off when she saw Potter's distracted, forlorn expression.

'Of course,' she realised. 'He's friends with Hagrid.'

The news that Hagrid had been taken to Azkaban the previous night had been making its way around Hogwarts that day. It made Lena feel sick. She might not have known Hagrid well, but she knew that he didn't deserve to be locked up in the same place as her parents. But even though she knew it wasn't the gamekeeper who had opened the Chamber fifty years ago, there wasn't anything she could really do – she had no actual evidence that the real culprit had been the young Voldemort, just the word of her grandmother.

About to attempt to comfort Potter, Lena suddenly had the peculiar sensation of feeling as though she was being watched. She looked back over her shoulder, and was immediately vindicated: several hundred yards back stood a small figure. Lena squinted. Although she couldn't be sure, she thought it looked like a girl, a redhead.

At this point, the unknown watcher must have sensed she'd been detected, because she quickly turned around and hurried back towards the castle. Lena looked down at Potter, but he didn't appear to have noticed anything. Lena filed the incident away in the back of her mind to consider later; she doubted it was a pressing matter.

"So," said Lena, hoping to take Potter's mind off his very large friend for at least a short while, "you got all the ingredients you needed out of Snape's private stores – very ingeniously, I must say – and were able to complete the Polyjuice Potion?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," said Potter, a little brightness returning to his brilliant green eyes. "But we had to wait a month for it to be ready."

"And then you would be able to enter the Slytherin Dungeon," said Lena, recalling what Potter had told her earlier. "Did you have a particular suspect in mind?" she asked, curious.

Potter nodded. "Yeah, Draco Malfoy."

Lena couldn't contain a snort of amusement. "Really, Draco?" she drawled. They were close to the edge of the forest by now. "Potter, my cousin might be a little shit, but he's not Slytherin's heir. He certainly doesn't have the drive or the patience to carry out these attacks. Or the competence."

Potter came to an abrupt stop. "Malfoy's your cousin?" he asked, looking up at her in disbelief.

"His mum's my mother's sister," confirmed Lena. Her mouth twitched at the sight of Potter's stricken face. "We can't choose our relatives."

Potter's expression changed from revulsion to understanding in an instant. "Yeah," he muttered, "I know what you mean."

Lena quirked an eyebrow. "I take it you find your muggle relatives... less than savoury?" she inquired.

The mirthless laughter that came out of Potter was surprising to Lena – she hadn't realised he was capable of such bitterness.

"My uncle and aunt made me sleep in a cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven," he said grimly. "So yeah, I guess you could say that."

"That's..." Lena searched for an appropriate descriptor, "unconventional." Potter gave her an impressively withering look, and Lena hurriedly added, "And horrible. Come on, we're almost at the spot." They began to walk again, and arrived at the place where she often had picnic lunches with Maggie and Rolf.

Lena wrinkled her nose. The ground was still slushy from the morning's frost. A solution, however, quickly presented itself to her. Pulling her wand out of her jacket pocket, she non-verbally Summoned a log from within the forest, which soon came flying out and landed with a _thud_ in front of her and Potter.

Potter eyed them, confused. "What are you–"

Pointing her wand at the log, Lena said in a clear voice, " _Sedifors._ " She smiled slightly as Potter's eyes widened as the log was Transfigured into a wooden bench, the sort of thing found in a park.

After a pause, Potter said, "That's a useful spell."

Taking a seat on one edge of the newly made seat, Lena chuckled. "I'm afraid you're going to have to wait for NEWT level classes to learn that one."

Potter sat down next to her with a sigh. "That's if there _is_ still a Hogwarts by then," he said gloomily. He looked up at Lena desolately. "Whoever's setting the monster on Muggle-borns has to still be around. There's no way Hagrid's responsible for this." He looked away, and Lena almost missed him mutter under his breath, "Not this time, anyway."

Lena eyed the boy curiously. So he knew why Hagrid had been expelled, then. He really was remarkably well-informed.

"I agree," she said quietly.

"You do?" Potter seemed a little surprised by the fact.

Lena shrugged. "Of course," she said, "it's completely illogical." She didn't tell him that she also happened to know that Hagrid had been innocent fifty years ago, and was framed by Voldemort. Instead, she asked, "So what's you next move?"

"What do you mean?"

"To find out who the culprit is," elaborated Lena. "The Polyjuice Potion didn't work, so what are you planning to do now?"

Potter's shoulders slumped. "I don't know, Hermione's the smart one," he said sadly. "She's the one who had the idea for the Potion. Without her..." He gestured helplessly.

Hesitantly, Lena put a hand on Potter's shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. When Potter didn't shrug it off, she took it as a sign that he was appreciative of the sentiment.

"You'll get her back soon," she told him softly. "The Mandrake Restorative Draught will be ready before the end of the school year, I'm sure of it."

Potter made a noise of frustration. "Yeah, but what else could happen between now and then?" he said. "And now that Dumbledore's gone..."

Lena had to admit there was something concerning about the fact that Dumbledore had been removed from the school – particularly when taken into account that, as far she could recall, the previous Hogwarts headmaster had not faced any repercussions after a student had actually been _killed_ under his tenure.

"You're sure you haven't stumbled upon anything else?" she asked Potter. "There's no way to keep moving forward?"

He appeared to mull this over in his head for a short while. "Well," he replied at last, "it's possible there might be _something_... but it might turn out to be nothing," he added with a shrug.

Just as Lena was debating whether to ask Potter outright what this possible lead might be, Potter spoke again.

"I just realised," he said, "that I never answered the question you asked me in Knockturn Alley last year. You know, the one about whether the reason I was surprised you'd helped me was because you were in Slytherin?"

"I remember," said Lena, a little thrown by the sudden change in topic. "What made you think of it?"

"Well, yesterday, after Professor McGonagall came to our common room to tell us about the latest attack and the new rules, Lee Jordan said that because no Slytherin had been a victim, that it's 'obvious all this stuff's coming from Slytherin'," explained Potter, "and that all the Slytherins should be kicked out."

"I see," replied Lena after a momentary pause. "That's certainly... a somewhat _radical_ solution."

"Before I started my first year," continued Potter, "Hagrid told me that every witch or wizard who went bad had been in Slytherin while at Hogwarts. Then Malfoy and I had a..." he hesitated before saying, "... an argument on the train, and then he was Sorted into Slytherin. So I guess–"

"You made the rather broad assumption that 'Slytherin' and 'evil' equate to the same thing," finished Lena, not unkindly. "I can understand that. And Salazar Slytherin was undoubtedly a blood purist who practised the Dark Arts, so he wasn't exactly a paragon of virtue." She shifted so she was sitting angled more towards Potter. "But what you have to remember," she stressed, "is that the Sorting isn't a process of quantifying a person's goodness. It's about identifying the attributes that represent them most. And none of those attributes are inherently _good_ or _bad_. It's _how_ a person uses them that determines their character. For instance, ambition could drive a person to find a cure for a fatal magical malady. And an undying loyalty to a cause is only righteous if that cause is just. Also," she added as an afterthought, " people very rarely remain the same person that they were at eleven for the rest of their life. In fact, a lot of people change quite a bit in the just the seven years they're at Hogwarts."

Potter didn't respond immediately ; he appeared to be carefully considering Lena's words. At last, he asked, "So do you believe that there's such things as 'good' and 'bad'?

Lena tilted her head to the side, smiling drily. "You're developing quite the philosopher's mind, Potter."

He bit his lip, and shrugged. "It's just something Quirrell said to me last year, something Voldemort told him. That _there is no good and evil, there is only_ –"

" _Only power, and those too weak to seek it,"_ completed Lena unthinkingly. Then she froze as she realised what she had done.

Potter was staring at her in shock. "How did you – did you know – that– that was..."

Lena ran a hand through her hair, internally screaming at herself. _'Stupid, stupid girl.'_

"Because he once told me the same thing," she finally said. "Voldemort, I mean. Not Quirrell."

The green eyes were watching her apprehensively. "After the Duelling Club, when you said you knew him..." started Potter, suspicion tainting his voice.

"Don't, Potter."

He folded his arms. "Don't what?" he demanded.

Lena let out a shaky breath, and for once, allowed vulnerability to show in her eyes. "Don't ask me to talk about it," she implored. "About _him_." She swallowed. " _Please_."

There was a flicker of something in Potter's eyes, something Lena couldn't quite place, and he tore his gaze away from her. "Right," he mumbled. "Sorry."

Lena closed her eyes, and internally sighed in relief. She just wasn't ready to tell Potter – one of the few people at Hogwarts who didn't look at her with fear, distrust or hatred – just how close she had been with Voldemort.

"So do you agree?"

Lena blinked. "Sorry?"

"About there being no good or evil," clarified Potter.

"Oh." Lena began to play with her hair as she searched for the right words. "I think," she said slowly, "that they are very small words for very big ideas."

Potter nodded, and continued to look at her expectantly. When further elaboration didn't occur, he raised his eyebrows. "And?"

Lena let out a small bark of laughter. She leant back, and stretched out her legs. "We could have a very lengthy conversation about this, Potter, but in all honesty – am I really the sort of person you think you should discussing this with? I don't exactly have a reputation of impeccable morality," she pointed out.

"I don't care about your reputation," said Potter stubbornly. "I want to know what _you_ think. And in more detail than 'It's complicated'," he added hastily.

Lena had many, many thoughts on the concepts of good and evil. But there didn't seem like much point in talking about it with Potter at this time. She felt he was too young to truly understand what she might say – he needed to see more, to experience more of life. Perhaps it was patronising, but Lena didn't really care; it wasn't a conversation Potter immediately needed to have.

Wanting to discuss something else, she gave Potter an answer. Just not one to the most recent question he had asked.

"Because I thought it was the right thing to do," she said, looking out towards the castle.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Potter's confused expression. "Huh?'

"You gave me an answer – well, of sorts – to the question I asked you back in Knockturn Alley," she said nonchalantly. "So there's the answer to your original question, which if I remember correctly, was why I helped you if, like everybody says, I'm one of Voldemort's supporters, and I'm supposed to hate you." She glanced back at Potter. "Because I thought it was the right thing to do." She smirked. "That a good enough answer for you?"

"Oh, right," said Potter. He sounded surprised. "Erm, yeah. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And, just for the record, Potter –" she reached out to gently brush a beetle that had landed on his shoulder, "– I don't hate you."

Briefly, Potter looked down at his shoulder where her hand had been, and then back up at her. He seemed to be considering her words. Then he bit his bottom lip, and said, "I don't hate you either." He hesitated, then added, "Which I suppose means you could call me Harry, instead of 'Potter'."

Lena stared at the boy sitting next to her, unsure of how to immediately respond. Finally, she smiled. Genuinely. "Then I suppose that means you could call me Lena."

Harry returned the smile. "Yeah," he said, "I suppose it does."

* * *

 _Friday 28 May, 1993:_

For the next three months, there were no more Petrifications at Hogwarts. Slowly, the atmosphere of tension and fear began to lift. Lena, however, found the lack of activity by Slytherin's monster plain unsettling. The heir (or whoever it was responsible) must have been biding their time, she felt. Why?

But extended dwelling upon this question was not an option for Lena; she had more than enough on her plate. Persistent appeals from her housemates to increase the frequency of her DADA classes had resulted in Lena adding two extra sessions a week to their usual Sunday lessons. She had to admit, she felt oddly proud of her peers; their progress in the subject was quite staggering. There was also something rather pleasing about seeing them regularly outdo their Ravenclaw classmates in their official DADA classes whenever they did some actual work. Then there was also the fact that she was studying eight different subjects at NEWT level, and continuing to help Maggie and Rolf in all of theirs as well.

Another factor in her busy schedule was her tentative friendship – if it could be called that – with Harry Potter. Hermione Granger had been his regular go-to when he needed someone to check his homework, but with her lying still as a statue in the Hospital Wing, Lena had offered to be her substitute. She was finding a particular joy in ensuring that Harry's Potions essays were flawless. According to Harry, it was infuriating Snape that, despite Hermione not being around, his least favourite student was positively flourishing in his class.

She hadn't told Maggie and Rolf about the growing bond between her and the Boy Who Lived, and she was fairly certain that he hadn't told anyone either. It was just something that felt too... private... to share with anyone else, or at least at this point. Their usual meeting place was the secret room at the top of the tower, where they had first spoken after the Duelling Club.

The other thing that was affecting Lena's time was her insomnia, and the subsequent exhaustion. It was worse than it had ever been. The moment she would close her eyes to sleep, images – predominantly of Voldemort, her mother, and Hecate's Orb – would take hold, and rest would prove elusive. The exhaustion that constantly plagued her meant that Lena's mind was almost always functioning at about half its full capacity.

Luckily, Lena, at her best, was brilliant. At half her best, she was simply very, very good.

The last Friday of May saw Lena awaking late in the morning after once again passing out the previous afternoon. Fortunately, her first couple of class hours on Fridays were free periods. A quick look at her watch told her that if she hurried, she would make it in time to her first class, Potions.

Twenty minutes after waking up, Lena was in the Potions classroom, seated at a table with Farley, Bletchley and Kahn.

An unforseen consequence of her DADA lessons had been the desire of her housemates to sit with her during other classes. Initially unsettled by the increase in social activity, Lena was begrudgingly coming around to it.

Today, however, while the other three quietly chatted, Lena was too groggy to join in.

Until Farley said something that drew Lena's attention.

"I don't know, I wouldn't be surprised if they wake up tonight and say Hagrid isn't the real culprit."

Lena, in the action of cutting Asphodel stalks for her Hiccoughing Solution, paused. "Tonight?" she inquired.

Farley looked at her confused. "Yeah, tonight. Or tomorrow. Whenever the Restorative kicks in."

"The Restorative Draught's ready?"

It was Kahn who answered. "By tonight. That's what McGonagall said at breakfast, didn't you hear?"

"I wasn't there," muttered Lena, starting to cut her stalks again. Her mind whirred as unease took hold. How could this be it? Just four Muggle-borns, a cat, and a ghost. Fifty years, and that was all this 'heir' had wanted to accomplish?

"Petrification is such a weird way to attack people," Farley was saying. "All you're doing is incapacitating the victim for a few months, then someone gives them a potion, and they wake up, ready to tell you who their attacker was."

Kahn snorted. "Yeah, it's not something murderers have to worry about," he said. "'Dead men tell no tales', and all that."

"Well, unless they come ba–" Lena began to say, but stopped. Her knife slipped from her grip and fell to the floor with a clatter, but she barely noticed.

Kahn, Farley and Bletchley stopped what they were doing and stared at her.

"Lestrange?" asked Bletchley. "You okay?"

Lena ignored her. Inside her head, everything had fallen into place.

Dead people couldn't tell you how they died. Not unless they came back as a ghost. And there was one ghost at Hogwarts who had died during their time as a student. The only student, as far as Lena knew, to have died at Hogwarts. Because she had been killed by Slytherin's monster fifty years ago.

' _How didn't I make the connection before now?'_ Lena asked herself, stunned. She had never felt so stupid in all her life.

She needed to talk to Moaning Myrtle.

Unable to focus on anything else, she walked over to where Snape was sitting at his desk. Hearing her approach, he looked up, and narrowed his eyes at her. Any hope that the animosity between the two of them would lessen had disappeared after the Duelling Club. He'd known that the dark blue smoke had been her doing, but was unable to prove it. So yet again, she had escaped any punishment.

"Sir," she said to him, trying to remain calm, "I need to go to the bathroom."

Snape glared at her. "There is still another hour and a half of class left, Lestrange. You will have to wait until then."

But Lena hadn't been asking. "No," she said simply, "I won't." She turned on her heel and strode to the classroom door.

"Lestrange," Snape snarled after her, "I have not given you permission to leave this class. Lestrange!"

Lena ignored both him and the stares she was receiving from the other members of the class, and exited the room, the door slamming shut after her.

She broke into a run, her head spinning as she ascended the Dungeons' stairs.

Myrtle tended to stay around the first-floor girls' bathroom. What if that was where she had died? The heir's message had been written on the outside corridor wall – maybe the proximity was significant.

An image of one of the taps in the bathroom flashed in Lena's mind, and she wanted to smack herself in the face.

Over the years, Lena had used the first-floor bathroom frequently, because the other female students rarely did. And because she used it frequently, she knew which taps worked. Only one didn't: the one with a tiny snake scratched onto its side. Lena had never noticed such an image on another tap at Hogwarts, and her instincts were telling her that it wasn't just a simple case of graffiti.

'It's too much of a coincidence,' she told herself. 'The Chamber of Secrets has to be connected to that bathroom, _it has to be._ "

Reaching the first-floor, she hurtled through the corridors, unconcerned if anyone saw her. But when she turned into the corridor directly outside the bathroom, she came to a sudden halt.

Standing there, holding a small black book, her hands covered in red paint, was a small, redheaded girl – the youngest Weasley, if Lena's memory of the Sorting at the beginning of the year served correct. On the wall, another message under the first was written.

 _HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOR EVER_

Lena's mind, which just a moment ago had been buzzing with thoughts, went blank. Of all things she could have expected to find, this was not one.

Then the only thing that Lena could have expected even less happened. The Weasley girl, who was staring back at Lena, opened her mouth, and Parseltongue came out.

Stunned, Lena took a step back. ' _How?'_ was all she could internally scream. _'How the fuck–"_

She noticed Weasley's eyes. There was something wrong with them – like although they were open, she wasn't looking through them. But someone else was.

Possession.

Lena's hand delved into her robe pocket to grab her wand. Just as she was grasping it, she heard something else, and froze.

 _Hissing._

Something was coming. Something large. Something _slithering._

Lena finally knew what Slytherin's monster was. And for the first time in a very long time, she was completely and utterly terrified.

She reacted without thinking, shutting her eyes tightly so she would be safe from the Basilisk's deadly gaze. What she wasn't safe from was the possessed young girl.

Lena felt the spell coming the split-second before it hit, but it wasn't enough time to stop it. And then she was falling.

* * *

 **So there you go; hopefully it wasn't too much of a slog. Do people like cliffhanger endings? I always have.**

 **Thank you to Annalise17, rebelforcauses, Clara, vballnikig** (I hope things are looking up for you!), **xlijahsgirl** (I studied German in school for about four years, but the amount I remember now roughly equates to the vocabulary of a quite dim four-year-old, so I hope the little German I've used so far hasn't been too atrocious :) **) and Cosi for your reviews, I really do appreciate them :)**

 **I'm just curious: from purely a writing perspective, do any of you find that there are phrases and expressions I use annoyingly often? Because as I'm writing this story, I've identified a few, and if it's irritating anyone else, feel free to point them out, and I will endeavour to refrain or at least limit their usage.**

 **These last two chapters have been very long because I'm trying to condense CoS as much as I can. The next couple of chapters that finish off this section of the story should be much shorter, and therefore ideally finished much quicker. Ideally being the key word.**

 **Anyway, thank you to everyone who's sticking with this story. As per usual, if you have any questions or criticisms, I'm more than happy to address them in the next AN.**

 **Until next time :)**


	14. Tom Riddle

**So initially this chapter and the next were just going to be one big chapter, but I need a bit longer to work out the ending, and I'd wanted to update by now. Consequently, I cut it in two, so I hope the ending isn't too abrupt.  
**

 **Thank you to 19irene96, Pein's Kid and the guest for their reviews, and to everybody who followed and favourited after the last chapter, I really appreciate it :) Hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

 _Friday 28 May, 1993:_

Harry and Ron were pacing around the staff room when Professor McGonagall's voice, magically magnified, echoed throughout the corridors of Hogwarts.

 _"All students to return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please."_

Harry wheeled around to stare at Ron. "Not another attack? Not now?"

"What'll we do?" said Ron, aghast. "Go back to the dormitory?"

Harry considered this for a second. He and Ron had just visited Hermione, and had found the answer to the centuries old question of 'What is Slytherin's monster?' scrunched up in a ball in her hand. Pieces of the jigsaw had started to fit together for Harry, so he and Ron had gone to the staff room to tell Professor McGonagall what they knew. But the room, alas, had been empty.

"No," said Harry, glancing around. There was an ugly sort of wardrobe to his left, full of the teachers' cloaks. "In here. Let's hear what it's all about. Then we can tell them what we've found out."

They hid themselves inside it, listening to the rumbling of hundreds of people moving overhead, and the staff room door banging open. From between the folds of cloaks, they watched the teachers filtering into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled, others downright scared. Then Professor McGonagall arrived.

"It has happened," she told the silent staff room. "A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself."

Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of a chair very hard and said, "How can you be sure?"

"The heir of Slytherin," said Professor McGonagall, who was very white, "left another message. Right underneath the first one. _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber for ever."_

Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

"Who is it?" sad Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed into a chair. "Which student?"

"Ginny Weasley," said Professor McGonagall.

Harry felt Ron slide silently down onto the wardrobe floor beside him.

"We shall have to send all the stu–"

"Wait, Minerva." It was Snape who had interrupted, in an odd voice that Harry had never heard the Potions Master use before. "When did this happen?"

"She was not present when I was about to start her Transfiguration class twenty minutes ago, " said Professor McGonagall. "And none of her classmates recalled seeing her in the five minutes prior to that."

"But she was there until the end of her Herbology class this morning," interjected Professor Sprout.

"So it must have been sometime between an hour and half-an-hour ago," concluded Professor McGonagall, frowning. "Why, Severus?"

"Because just one hour ago," said Snape quietly, "Lena Lestrange left my classroom. And she didn't return."

The whole staff room went so quiet that Harry was worried the teachers would be able to hear his heart thudding in his chest. A sick feeling was starting to overwhelm him. What was Snape implying?

"Why," said Professor McGonagall icily, her voice barely above a whisper, "did you not inform me of her prolonged absence _immediately?_ "

Snape opened his mouth to reply, but a female teacher whose name Harry didn't know beat him to it. "You can't blame Severus for not being concerned straight away when Lestrange didn't come back to class, Minerva," she said. "It's not something that's really out of the usual. Sometimes Lestrange doesn't turn up for class. And she's often not in the Great Hall at mealtimes."

"Perhaps it's just a coincidence, to have not been seen since the same time as young Miss Weasley," said Professor Flitwick anxiously.

"I don't believe it's a coincidence at all," said Snape darkly.

"You think she was also taken by the monster?" cried another teacher Harry didn't know.

"The message from the heir said 'Her skeleton', not 'Their skeletons'," said Professor McGonagall, looking at Snape with a troubled expression. "But that's not what you were saying, was it Severus?"

"No," replied Snape. "What I'm saying is that Lena Lestrange just revealed herself to be the heir of Slytherin."

There were horrified gasps and sharp intakes of breath around the room, but Harry didn't really notice them. He had gone cold.

The girl who he had come to think of as a friend was the same person who he had spent the whole year trying to find. The same person who had been attempting to kill Muggle-borns.

He didn't want to believe it, but as memories of their conversations raced through his mind, everything was falling into place. Things she had said to him were taking on new meanings.

 _So what's your next move?_

She had been so eager to hear about his, Ron and Hermione's attempts to discover the heir's identity. Not because she'd wanted to know – because she'd wanted to know how much _he_ knew.

 _Potter, my cousin might be a little shit, but he's not Slytherin's heir. He certainly doesn't have the drive or the patience to carry out these attacks. Or the competence._

She had said it in such a disgusted way; he'd just thought she was disappointed in his deductive skills. Now, he realised she'd been insulted by the idea that Malfoy could be capable of what she was.

 _You're a Parselmouth... Obviously, I realised that you were giving the snake a command, and it obeyed, but everyone else had never heard Parseltongue before..._

She had been so shocked to find out he was a Parselmouth. But not because he was a rarity – because she hadn't expected to encounter another like her. For surely if she was Slytherin's heir, she was a Parselmouth too.

 _It's supposed to be hereditary..._

Harry's heart skipped a beat as another realisation struck.

 _It's not a well known fact, but yes..._

She had said Voldemort was the last known – albeit 'not well known' – descendant of Slytherin. And if Lena thought that being Parselmouth was hereditary...

 _Yes, I knew him._

 _Don't ask me to talk about it. About_ him _._

Harry had assumed from the pain he had seen in his Lena's eyes that the reason she didn't want to talk about Voldemort was simply that knowing someone as evil as him when she was just a young child had been a horrible and traumatising experience.

 _Because he once told me the same thing._

But from the little Lena had let slip, it didn't sound like that Voldemort had just been her parents' boss. There had been more to it than that.

She wasn't afraid of him like everyone else – she called him by his name. The only person Harry knew other than himself who did that was Dumbledore. Even Lucius Malfoy, once a follower of Voldemort, called him the 'Dark Lord'.

Harry could only conclude one thing: Lena was Voldemort's daughter.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt truly betrayed. He had been certain there was something between him and Lena – a bond, a connection that he had never shared before. But it hadn't been real. She had just been manipulating him.

If all he had known about Lena were the stories that Percy had told him at the beginning of his First Year, then he would have suspected her from the moment that first message from the heir had appeared on Halloween. Ron and Hermione had suggested it. But after she had told them who Flamel was, after she had helped Harry find his way out of Knockturn Alley, Harry had been positive it _wasn't_ her.

 _Because I thought it was the right thing to do._

It had been the right thing to do – the right way to avoid suspicion and carry out her plan.

Harry had never felt broken before – not even during the ten years the Dursleys had made him sleep in a cupboard under the stairs. But now all he wanted to do was just curl up and stop fighting.

Desperately, he wished Dumbledore was still at Hogwarts. He'd know what to do.

At that moment the staff room door banged opened again. For a wild moment, Harry thought his wish had been granted and it was Dumbledore, and that everything would be sorted out. Instead, it was Lockhart, and he was beaming.

"So sorry – dozed off – what have I missed?"

* * *

When Lena finally regained consciousness, the first thing she noticed was that she wasn't lying on carpet. Usually when she passed out, she woke up on the carpeted floor of her dormitory. But this time, it was stone.

The second thing she noticed – or rather, felt – was that her head hurt. A lot.

She winced as she slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. Blearily, she held her hands up in front of her and squinted. They were grazed and bleeding. Her whole body felt like it had been dragged around like a ragdoll.

"Oh good, you're awake. Finally."

Lena's head snapped to her right, from where the voice had come. Standing about ten metres away from her stood a boy. Or a young man. It was hard to tell; her vision was still blurry.

She shook her head slightly. No, it wasn't just her vision – the mystery boy's outline was blurred.

Lena quickly surveyed her surroundings. She was in a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. At the end of the chamber, only a few metres from where she was sitting, loomed an enormous statue. From other portraits she had seen, Lena recognised its likeness as that of the founder of her house.

Now, she knew where she was – the Chamber of Secrets.

"I was hoping you'd wake up soon, you've been out for hours." The hazy figure spoke again, drawing Lena's attention back to him. "It's really been quite dull – even when she was still conscious." He carelessly motioned towards something – no, _someone_ – lying behind him. He shifted slightly, and Lena saw the bright red hair splayed out on the ground.

Everything that had happened that morning suddenly came flooding back to Lena, and she hurriedly scrambled to her feet. It was a move that was more difficult than she had anticipated, and she almost fell straight back down again. She was feeling very lightheaded. Her first thought was that she must have hit her head hard. But it was more than that – her whole body was weak. Perhaps it was the effect of whatever spell she'd been hit with back on the first-floor corridor...

Then something else occurred to her – when was the last time she had eaten anything? A quick glance down at her watch told her it was after nine p.m., which meant it had been at least over thirty hours.

Swaying slightly on her feet, Lena internally cursed her lack of regard for her well-being, and reached into her pocket for her wand.

But it wasn't in there.

"Oh, I took your wand as soon as I was solid enough to properly hold things," said the boy, holding something out in front of him. He appeared to be inspecting it. "I must say, it's really quite a work of art."

The distance between them, combined with the dim lighting of the chamber, meant that Lena couldn't see the boy's face clearly. But there was something familiar in his voice – a certain timbre, a pattern in the way it rose and fell.

She started to slowly walk towards him, hoping that her lack of speed would come off as a calm confidence, not a deliberate attempt to stay upright.

"Then it's a good thing I don't need a wand," she said quietly, her right palm flat. It took a couple of seconds longer than usual, but the familiar ball of blue flames appeared, allowing her to see around the Chamber more easily.

Her wand's captor was staring at the flames. "Well," he said softly, "I was afraid that you were going to be a disappointment. Now, I don't think I need to be concerned about that." He raised his gaze to Lena's face, his eyes meeting hers.

Lena was now only a few metres away from him and, with the light in her hand, was able to get a clearer look at the mystery boy.

He appeared to be about the same age as her, give or take a year. He was slightly taller than her, and slender, although not quite as skeletal as Lena. But like her, his skin was pale, which only served to make his raven black hair darker in its contrast.

However, it was his face that Lena couldn't tear her eyes from. Another person might have called it handsome, but the word that sprang to Lena's mind was _beautiful_ , almost ethereally so. Lena had never been one to fixate on aesthetics, but even she found it impossible to ignore: unblemished by any of the usual marks that plagued teenagers, high cheekbones that could have been sculpted from marble, a mouth and nose so perfectly proportioned.

Then there were his eyes: dark, and intently staring into Lena's. And much like his voice, there was something in them that felt so familiar –a confidence, an intelligence, a curiosity.

A curiosity about Lena.

She froze, and for a moment the only sound she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her chest. The fire in her hand went out, but Lena barely noticed. It didn't matter – she'd seen everything she needed to.

"You're him," she whispered, telling herself that it _couldn't possibly be him_ , but at the same time being _certain_ of it.

He cocked his head, and although she couldn't see his eyes as clearly as before, she knew the curiosity within them had intensified. "You recognise me?" he asked, taking a step closer to her.

Not trusting herself to say anything else at that moment, Lena simply nodded.

Slowly, a smile formed on the face of the young Lord Voldemort – or Tom Riddle, as he would have been known at this age. "So you _do_ know me – the older me, I mean," he said, still gazing at her with fascination. "In the future. _My_ future. Ginny wasn't sure, she only knew that–"

"Ginny?" Lena's voice cracked slightly, but she had at least been able to formulate a whole word, a skill she'd been uncertain of possessing at present.

Riddle jerked his head towards the small, redheaded girl lying on the ground behind him, who Lena, caught up in the discovery of the boy's identity, had temporarily forgotten about. "Her," he said. "Ginny Weasley. She's been quite obsessed with you these past three months, trying to find out whatever she can about you. And what she did find out..." he paused, slowly running a finger up and down Lena's wand. "Well," he continued with a slight shrug, "you have me intrigued... _Lena Lestrange._ " He said her name with such relish that it almost made Lena shiver.

She recalled the vacant expression Weasley had had before Lena had shut her eyes. "You've been Possessing her," she said. "The whole year."

"Yes," replied Riddle, taking the last few steps to close the distance between Lena and himself. Still, neither removed their gaze from the other.

"How?" asked Lena, barely daring to breathe now that she was in such close proximity to him.

Riddle smirked, an expression that to Lena was so familiar when it graced his older counterpart's face. "Do you mean how did I Possess her," he said softly, "or how am I here at all?"

"Are you here?" Lena blurted out. "I mean, really here? Because you don't..." she swallowed, trying to maintain at least a semblance of composure. "It's like you're here, but not really _here_ ," she said finally. "Like a reflection that's walked out of its mirror."

Instead of answering, Riddle simply stared at Lena. Then he slowly held his left hand up in front of him, spreading his fingertips a little. The outline was still blurred, but now less than a foot away from Lena, it looked solid.

Hesitantly, Lena raised her right hand, bringing it to only an inch away from Riddle's left. For a moment she held it there. Then she took a deep breath and closed the distance.

There was a sharp intake of breath from both of them when their hands met. To Lena, it wasn't like she was touching his hand – it was like she was touching his very being. His soul.

It wasn't a conscious decision she made, but somehow her fingers interlocked with Riddle's. And at that moment, there was only one thing she wanted to say to him.

"Hello."

The smile returned to Riddle's face, and Lena immediately recognised it as the one Voldemort used to give her when she had successfully completed a task. "Hello," he said too.

Emotions crashed over Lena like a tidal wave. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, she wanted to throw her arms around him and never let go. At the same time, she wanted to scream at him, to hit him, to hate him. Then she pushed aside all the conflict that was raging within her to focus on her one certainty: that although this was Voldemort, he wasn't _her_ Voldemort.

So instead of doing any of the things she wanted to, she reluctantly let go of Riddle's hand. "What are you?" she asked him.

"Memories, at present," he answered.

Lena frowned. "Your memories?"

"Of my sixteen year old self."

"From when you opened the Chamber fifty years ago?"

"Precisely," said Riddle. "Did you just figure out it was me, or did–"

"My grandmother told me. Years ago."

For a few seconds, Riddle appeared to think this over. At last, he nodded slowly, saying, "Irina Dolohov, I presume. You have her eyes."

Lena didn't acknowledge this – something else had occurred to her. "They were going to close Hogwarts back then, so you closed the Chamber. But you were worried about the possibility of the secret being lost forever. Somehow, you created another version of yourself from your memories..." she trailed off, confused. "But how? What magic is there that could possibly achieve something like that?"

There was an unmistakable arrogance in Riddle's demeanour now. "Impressed?" he smirked, before chuckling. "Well, I suppose I wasn't completely honest before, when you asked me what I was."

Lena folded her arms. "Go on."

"I was just memories," began Riddle, "recorded in a diary." Using Lena's wand, he pointed at the bottom of the statue. Lena hadn't noticed before that a small book lay there, open. "That was until last August, when I came into the possession of young Ginny. She started to write in me, you see." He smiled broadly. "Poured out her soul to me."

Looking over at the diary, the answer finally formulated for Lena.

 _It was like she was touching his soul._

"You're a Horcrux."

Riddle's eyes lit up. "Oh, you _are_ good." He sounded pleased. "I was wondering if you'd figure it out."

"You said 'at present'," recalled Lena. "That means what? You're–" she struggled to find the right word, "– evolving?" Riddle opened his mouth to reply, but Lena had already arrived at the answer."Ginny. You haven't just been Possessing her, you've been – been – _absorbing_ her. Her life."

Riddle didn't just look pleased now – it was like he'd had a religious experience. He was staring at Lena with something between admiration and _adoration_.

"Incredible," he breathed.

What is?" asked Lena, confused.

"You."

Lena desperately hoped she wasn't blushing. "I'm not–"

"But you _are,"_ insisted Riddle. "Don't you see?" He leaned in closer, and Lena could almost feel something akin to breath on her face. "Other people are so _slow_. But you and I? It's–"

"Like living in a world where everyone else is standing still."

Riddle gazed at Lena, enraptured. "Exactly," he whispered.

A lump was forming in Lena's throat. For over eleven years, she had longed for the opportunity to prove to Voldemort that she was every bit as clever and as powerful as she had promised to be when she was little. Now it was really happening – or at least, sort of.

In some ways, he was so alike _her_ Voldemort. But there was so much this young version hadn't done yet, hadn't _lived_. So much he didn't know. He didn't even know her – as much as it felt like it.

"Why am I here?" asked Lena finally, taking a step back from Riddle. "There was no way you could have predicted I would turn up in the corridor at the time I did, so it can't have been part of your plan. I mean, you obviously couldn't have just left me there, but you could have tried Obliviating me, or putting me in a Body-Bind and stashing me somewhere. So why deviate from the plan at the last minute?"

Riddle's expression lost some of its intensity, becoming more thoughtful. "I was going to visit you," he said slowly. "After I'd... finished, with Ginny. That was always my intention, ever since she started writing about you."

Lena cut in. "Why did she start writing about me? Earlier you said she'd been obsessed with me recently."

A darkness flashed across Riddle's face so quickly that Lena almost missed it. Then he smiled again. But Lena could see a malevolence in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Well," he replied softly, "here's the funny thing. Ginny has quite the crush on a boy named Harry Potter."

Although Lena's heart skipped a beat, she managed to retain a neutral expression under Riddle's pointed gaze.

"An infatuation, really," he continued. "So one day, three months ago, she saw him leaving the castle and decided to follow him at a distance as he crossed the castle grounds. And he wasn't alone. But to her surprise, he wasn't with either of his two best friends, but an older girl."

The memory of turning around to see a small figure watching her and Harry walk to the edge of the Forbidden Forest flashed in Lena's mind.

"Now, Ginny knew the girl's name, and that she was in Slytherin, but she didn't know much else. So she started asking around about her, and she found out some _fascinating_ things." Suddenly, Riddle dropped the smile from his face. "But the one thing I'd really like to know about you right now, Lena, is what you were doing with Potter."

Lena remained calm, but tightened the protective barriers around her mind. She wasn't exactly sure how capable a Horcrux was of performing Legilimency, but she'd rather be safe than sorry. "I take it you're aware," she said levelly, "at least to some degree, of how your future is connected to his past."

The bitterness in Riddle's face was now unmistakeable. "Ginny filled me in, yes."

"And presumably, if Ginny is as infatuated with Potter as you say, she would have told you that Potter is a Parselmouth."

Clearly, Riddle had not been expecting her to say this. He raised his eyebrows, then frowned. "Yes. That was certainly...a surprise."

"It was a shock," agreed Lena. "The last time I'd heard anyone speak Parseltongue was you." This little titbit of information appeared to interest Riddle, but she kept going. "Well, I'm sure you can understand my curiosity in Potter after he revealed that particular... talent."

"I see," said Riddle after a long pause. "And I don't suppose you've found out how he possesses the ability?"

"Not yet," admitted Lena, allowing annoyance to creep into her voice. "Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be much written on the subject of Parselmouths, or at least not in the Hogwarts Library." She decided to direct the conversation back to her previous question. "So what Ginny wrote about me intrigued you enough to want to meet me?"

Riddle chuckled. "I think it would be enough to intrigue anyone. But yes, I knew I had to meet you. And then I was making Ginny write that final message on the wall, and there you were."

"How did you know it was me?" inquired Lena.

"Although Ginny didn't have control over her mental faculties when I Possessed her, I had access to her memories," explained Riddle. "So I saw you, and, well..." he hesitated, before saying in an almost suggestive voice, "it was like fate had brought us together."

"What about the other you?" asked Lena.

Riddle frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What happens to the–" she stopped herself from saying 'the _real_ you' just in time, "–the _older_ you, the one I know from when I was younger? If you become a – a – a fully independent being, how will that affect him?"

Riddle took a step back and folded his arms. After a pause, he said, "From what Ginny's told me, there's not much of a _him_ left to affect."

Lena had to admit he had a point. From what Harry had said, it sounded like there wasn't much more to Voldemort than there was to this fragment of his soul. Was it possible this version could become independent from the original?

Surely this was uncharted territory in the magical arts. Even if Lena disregarded her personal connection with Voldemort, what Riddle was trying to achieve was utterly fascinating. She had always been interested in the nature of magic itself, and this was something so new, so unheard of, that she desperately wanted to know what happened next.

Just as she thought this, the still body of Ginny came into focus for Lena again, and she remembered the price that would have to be paid.

As indifferently as she could, Lena walked over to where Ginny lay– very aware that her every movement was under close scrutiny from Riddle – and knelt down beside the girl. First, she felt Ginny's forehead. It was cold. Then she checked her pulse. It was weak.

There was no doubt about it – she was dying. Slowly, to be sure, but by Lena's estimation, the young Weasley had no more than an hour or two of life left in her.

Keeping her face hidden from Riddle, Lena bit her lip, unsure of how to proceed. Ginny was an innocent young girl – and probably quite a lonely one, if she had taken such comfort in confiding in Riddle's diary the past year. And that was something that Lena could understand all too well. It was unquestionably wrong, Lena knew, that Ginny should have to die to allow Riddle to live.

But the possibility of having _him_ back... everything Voldemort had done for her as a child made it impossible for Lena to entirely discard the notion. And while this wasn't exactly the same man from her childhood...

' _He_ had a chance,' thought Lena savagely, unconsciously clenching her fist. 'He had a whole _year_ to just let me know he was in the _same fucking castle_ as me, and he didn't.'

But sixteen-year-old Voldemort had taken the chance, and he hadn't even met her before. And the way he looked at her, talked to her – now Lena had him, she didn't want to let him go.

"What if there was another way to achieve this?" asked Lena, trying to keep her voice neutral. "A way for you to... to come to life _fully_ , but without killing Ginny?"

She looked back around at Riddle, who had slightly narrowed his eyes. "Why do you care about what happens to her?" he said, the attempted nonchalance in his tone tainted by suspicion.

 _Because sacrificing the life of a Pure-blood for the benefit of a Half-blood like yourself is a direct contradiction to the ideology that you claim to fight for._

That's what Lena wanted to say. But she knew trying to reason with Riddle wouldn't save Ginny – it wasn't logic that motivated him, it was emotion.

So that was what she tried to appeal to. "If she dies, Hogwarts will close," said Lena matter-of-factly. "With immediate effect. Which means I won't be able to complete my final year here. And that's something I'd actually quite like to do, because I believe there's still more I can do here." She stood back up, trying to wiping the grime from the stone floor off her hands. "That's why you closed the Chamber fifty years ago, isn't it? So Hogwarts didn't close."

As she walked back towards him, Riddle, the suspicion in his expression gone, appeared to be considering this, twirling Lena's wand in his hands.

Finally, he said, "What would you suggest, then?" His voice was quiet and calm, but his eyes were once again filled with curiosity.

"Let me take your diary," said Lena softly, barely managing to conceal her desperation. "And over the summer, I'll find a way. And when you're back, you can stay at the Lestrange Estate – it's mine now, no one else will be there–"

"But you don't actually _know_ how to do it," interrupted Riddle.

"Not at this moment," said Lena quickly, "but I will. Just give me the opportunity to research, to experiment, and I will." She took a deep breath, and looked straight into Riddle's eyes with all the intensity she could muster. "I _swear_."

Riddle tilted his head, and took a step closer to her. The strength of his gaze matched hers as he asked, "Whatever it takes?"

"Whatever it takes," repeated Lena firmly.

"And if that means taking another's life?"

Lena moved closer to him, until their faces were merely inches from each other. "Are you asking if I'd kill for you?" she whispered.

There was silence for a few seconds as Riddle simply stared at her. Then he murmured, "What was I to you?"

Lena drew in a shaky breath. There were so many things she wanted to say, answers she wanted to give building at the tip of the tongue. But in the end, there was only one word she needed.

"Everything."

For a second, they were both completely still. Then Riddle slowly moved his hand towards Lena's face. He hesitated, before gently pushing back a lock of her hair. But instead of removing his hand after he'd done this, he lightly cupped her cheek.

The intimacy of the gesture made Lena shiver. Still, she didn't tear her eyes away from his, not even when she felt him rest his other hand on her waist.

And before she realised she was doing it, Lena lifted her right hand, and lightly pressed it against Riddle's chest, right over where his heart should have been. But there was no beat.

'He's not real,' Lena told herself. 'Not alive, not truly. Not yet, anyway.'

But he could be. And soon.

Riddle was the first one to break their eye contact when he glanced down at Lena's lips. Almost imperceptibly, he began to close the distance between them.

 _I wish you were my father._

Lena froze as the memory of her last words to Voldemort – the _real Voldemort_ – surfaced in her mind.

'This is wrong,' thought Lena desperately. But she said nothing aloud. She didn't move.

At that moment, all she wanted was to be close to him. In any way he would let her.

His lips were little more than an inch away from hers when the sound of footsteps began to echo around the Chamber.

Almost in synchronisation, Lena and Riddle's heads snapped in the direction of the Chamber's entrance.

"An interesting proposal," murmured Riddle, and Lena looked back at him. "But too late, I'm afraid."

Lena felt her pulse quicken. "You know who it is?" she asked him in a low voice.

"I can make a confident prediction," he replied, before taking a step back from Lena. "I'm very curious to see how he responds to seeing you here. In fact, I wouldn't want to intrude. At least, not at this point."

He smirked, then, without warning, disappeared.

Lena's eyes widened in surprise, but before she could fully register what had happened, the sound of footsteps came to an abrupt stop. Standing between the last set of pillars was Harry.

* * *

 **And that's Chapter 14! I'm hoping to have 15 up in a week's time, which will be a nice change. I'd really love to get a few more reviews for this chapter, because I do find feedback, whether it's about writing style, characterisation or plot, very useful. But I completely understand if reviewing isn't your sort of thing - I'm just happy if you're taking the time to read this :)**


	15. When Harry Met Tom

**Hurrah! An update after only one week!**

 **Just a couple of things about this chapter before you begin: firstly, there is quite a bit of J.K. Rowling's original dialogue, probably more than there will ever be again in this story. That said, I have slightly changed elements of _The Heir of Slytherin_ chapter. Partially for pacing reasons, but also because Lena's presence would obviously affect, at least in small ways, how things play out. Hopefully, the result is nothing too drastic, or off-putting. Please feel free to question any of the changes made, and I'll do my best to give you my reasoning.**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

For a brief moment, Harry just stared at Lena. Then, to her shock, anger suddenly darkened his face, and he raised his wand, opening his mouth to cast... well, something decidedly unfriendly.

Instinctively, Lena swiped her hand left-to-right, and Harry's wand flew from his grasp. But because her response had been so uncontrolled, the wand, instead of coming to her, spun through the air before clattering to the ground somewhere far to her right.

"What the hell–" Lena began to exclaim, but Harry's furious voice drowned her out.

" _LIAR!"_ he shouted. _"_ YOU'RE A LIAR!" Then he looked behind her, and his face paled. " _Ginny_!" he gasped, and ran to the unconscious girl.

Lena watched him in disbelief, speechless. Why the hell had he reacted to seeing her like that?

Harry reached Ginny and dropped to his knees. Lena could hear him whispering, "Ginny, don't be dead! Please don't be dead!" He shook her shoulders. "Please wake up," he muttered.

Slowly, Lena approached the two young Gryffindors. Hesitantly, she called out to Harry, "She's not dead."

Harry looked back at her, and Lena almost flinched at the hostility in his stare. "What did you do to her?" he said angrily.

Lena halted. "I haven't done anything," she said, confused. "Harry, why–"

"If you haven't done anything, then why won't she wake up?"

Still bewildered by Harry's enmity towards her, Lena tried to explain, "She's still alive at the moment, but she is dying."

"I trusted you," said Harry suddenly, his voice full of venom. "Told you things I haven't told anyone else, not even Ron or Hermione. And the whole time–"

"The whole time _what_?" interrupted Lena, gesturing helplessly.

"IT WAS YOU!" yelled Harry, standing back up. "The whole time it was YOU!"

Finally, it dawned on Lena. "You think I'm the heir."

Harry glared at her. "Just stop pretending," he said. "I _know_. Why else would you be down here?"

Lena sighed, pushing some loose hair back behind her ear. "I don't know what it is you _think_ you know," she said, "but I'm not–"

"He's your father."

Lena went rigid. "I'm sorry?" she said at last, barely managing to stop her voice from shaking.

"It's why you acted so weird whenever we talked about him," said Harry quietly. "Voldemort's your father."

As far as Lena could remember, she had only ever lost control of her magic when she was very afraid or enraged. Or both. But hearing Harry accuse her of being Voldemort's daughter...

Perhaps it was a delayed reaction to meeting Riddle. Or maybe it was the poor state of her health. Quite possibly, it was the combined effect of the two. Whatever it was, it was the final breaking point for Lena. After years of being pulled in so many different directions – ambition, restraint, self-preservation, compassion, wanting to be better but unable to let go of the darkness that had protected her and made her who she was – Lena fell apart.

It was like an earthquake had hit the Chamber. The ground began to tremble. Cracks started to appear. Dust and chips of stone fell from the high ceiling.

Harry was looking around, his anger slowly being replaced by fear. "What – what are you doing?" he called out nervously.

Lena didn't respond; her head had started to painfully throb. Clutching it, she whimpered. Desperately, she tried to keep a hold of her Occlumency shield. But there was so much happening in her mind. Her head felt full – fuller than it had even been. The mental barrier was struggling to keep seventeen years worth of memories, feelings and thoughts inside her head. It was like a rubber band, being pulled more and more taut.

Then it snapped.

And for the first time since she was five years old, Lena's mind was completely vulnerable. But that wasn't the worst thing. One of the memories that had been pushing at the protective barrier suddenly found itself no longer facing any resistance, and was propelled out of Lena's head – and into Harry's.

It was more of an image than a memory. The image Lena had seen in the Mirror of Erised: herself, standing next to Voldemort, who was smiling at her proudly, his hand resting on her shoulder.

Lena knew Harry had seen it when she heard his shocked gasp. Her eyes met his, and she knew he was sickened at the thought that he had regarded Lena – someone who cared for his parents' murderer – as a friend. She opened her mouth, wanting to explain, but no words came. Instead, a jolt of pain ran through her entire body, and she cried out, staggering backwards.

The shaking of the Chamber floor intensified. A loud noise drew Lena's attention to a nearby pillar. Although her vision was hazy, she saw that a large crack was running up through the column. A few seconds later, the pillar split in half and crashed to the ground, the stone shattering on impact.

Another wave of excruciating pain ran through Lena, making her whimper. She didn't understand what was causing it – it had never happened before when she'd lost control. But now, the destruction she caused wasn't just happening _around_ her, it was also _inside_ of her. And it hurt almost as much as the Cruciatus Curse.

She clutched her sides and screamed as pain ripped through her again. The stone pieces from the fallen pillar rose into the air and began to whirl around Lena. She could hear Harry shouting at her to stop. Lena wanted to tell him she could as much stop what she was doing as she could stop the sun from rising, but her head hurt too much to form a coherent sentence.

Then Lena caught sight of the back of her hands. The veins, so prominent under her pale skin, were turning black.

Finally, she understood. It was her own magic that was attacking her body. It was trying to stop her, to stop the destruction she was causing around her.

So Lena stopped fighting and let the pain completely take hold of her. And as she screamed, the debris flying through the air settled back on the ground, which began to gradually stop shaking. And once her scream had died out, everything was once again quiet and still.

For the second time that day, Lena felt herself falling backwards. But this time, something – or rather, _someone_ – caught her before her head hit the ground.

"I've got you," she heard a voice murmur in her ear.

It was Riddle. Gently, he set her down on the ground. Lena tried to look back at him, but her vision had gone black. She heard Harry saying something, but couldn't make out the words. A ringing in her ears, gradually getting louder, was blocking out all external noise.

There had only been two other times in Lena's life when she had felt as weak as she did now. Both of those instances had been the result of extremely Dark magic. But this time, it had been entirely self-inflicted.

Semi-conscious, Lena half-sat, half-lay on the ground, light-headed. Once the ringing in her ears began to subside, she became aware that Riddle and Harry were talking. But she found she couldn't actually understand a word of what they were saying. She squinted at them, trying to see their facial expressions, but her vision – although no longer black – was incredibly blurry, like an out-of-focus telescope.

She rubbed her temple, but her senses remained impaired. All she wanted to do was properly lie down and sleep. But then Lena found herself staring at Ginny Weasley, lying still on the ground.

If Lena went to sleep now, she probably wake up in a day or two, maybe three.

 _But Ginny might never wake up._

The thought gave Lena some much needed clarity. Pushing herself up so she was sitting, Riddle's voice finally came into focus.

"– so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

Her vision now clearing, Lena saw that Harry was standing near Ginny and facing Riddle, whose back was turned to Lena. Neither of them had noticed Lena's change in position.

"Well, you haven't finished it," said Harry triumphantly. "No one's died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again."

So presumably Harry now knew that Riddle was the heir. 'But does he know who Riddle became?' wondered Lena.

"Haven't I already told you," said Riddle quietly, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been – _you_."

If the confusion on Harry's face was any indication, he was still unaware that he was talking to a young Voldemort.

"Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you," continued Riddle. "She saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all of her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who'd been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until your dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I must do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of Slytherin's heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery – particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because you could speak Parseltongue... so I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and–"

"That's when I arrived," said Lena softly, drawing Harry's gaze to her and causing Riddle to turn around.

Concern was written all over Riddle's face as he looked at her. Lena wasn't sure how she felt about that. "Yes," he said, his voice just as quiet. "Then you showed up."

"Why?" asked Harry, watching Lena warily,

"Because I finally came to the realisation that Myrtle was the victim of Slytherin's monster fifty years ago," replied Lena. "And then I was able to draw one conclusion from another to figure out that the entrance to the Chamber was in her bathroom." She glanced up at Riddle. "But I ran into Ginny before I could get there."

Riddle half-smiled at Lena before turning back around. "And as I told you before," he said to Harry, "I was... _eager_ to meet Lena. So I had Ginny stun Lena, then levitate her and bring her down here. Unfortunately, the Stun was a little over-enthusiastic, so I had to wait quite some time for Lena to wake up. Which meant I was left with just Ginny for company for several hours." Riddle's tone became noticeably crueller. "She struggled and cried and became _very_ boring. But there isn't much life left in her: she put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last. I've been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter."

"Like what?" Harry spat, his fists clenched.

"Well," said Riddle, "how is it that a baby with no extraordinary magical talent managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?" He began to pace. "How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?" He came to a stop, standing an equal distance between Harry and Lena, facing them both. Which meant that Lena could now see that there was a red gleam in Riddle's eyes.

"Why do you care how I escaped?" said Harry slowly. "Voldemort was after your time."

"No," said Lena. "Harry, don't you understand? _Voldemort is what comes next_." Her eyes flicked over to Riddle, who was watching her with a smirk. "It's his future."

Harry looked between Lena and Riddle, confused. "I don't–"

"Perhaps," interrupted Riddle, pulling Harry's wand from his pocket, "I should just _show_ you." He began to trace the wand through the air, writing three shimmering words:

 _TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:

 _I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_

'So that's how he got the name,' noted Lena to herself. It was something she had wondered for a long time.

"You see?" whispered Riddle, his attention now entirely focused on Harry, whose face had frozen in shock and horror. "It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry. I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

For the first time in her life, Lena truly understood what motivated Voldemort beyond power. And it wasn't just the anger he felt towards his father. It was about honouring the connection to the one person who shared his blood that hadn't failed him: Slytherin himself. It was what gave him his identity.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of Harry's quiet, hatred-filled voice.

"You're not."

"Not what?" snapped Riddle.

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," said Harry, breathing fast. "Sorry to disappoint you, and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare try and take over Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you're hiding these days."

The smile had gone from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. "Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere _memory_ of me!" he hissed.

"He's not as gone as you might think!" retorted Harry.

"ENOUGH!" shouted Riddle. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. Then he opened them again, and fixed a broad smile on his face. "To business, Harry," he said. "Twice – in _your_ past, in _my_ future – we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. _How did you survive_? Tell me everything. The longer you talk," he added softly, "the longer you stay alive."

'And the closer Ginny is to death,' thought Lena, noticing that Riddle's outline was becoming more and more distinct. She could tell that Harry was thinking the same thing.

"No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me," said Harry abruptly. "I don't know myself. But I know why you couldn't _kill_ me. Because my mother died to save me. My common _Muggle-born_ mother. She stopped you killing me."

Lena knew this already – it was something Harry had told her a few weeks ago. It had certainly been a surprise that the answer to a question that the Wizarding world had been asking for years was such a simple piece of magic. Simple, yes, but extraordinarily powerful and, in truth, quite rare in practice.

But Harry hadn't finished yet. "And I've seen the real you. I saw you last year. You're a wreck. You're barely alive. That's where your power got you. You're in hiding. You're ugly, you're foul!"

Riddle's face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile. "So, your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a powerful counter-charm. I can see now – there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. Because there are strange likenesses between us, Harry Potter. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even _look_ something alike... but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That's all I wanted to know." His smile widened. "Now, Harry, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, heir of Salazar Slytherin, against the famous Harry Potter."

Riddle moved so he was standing directly in front of the Slytherin statue and looked up at the stone face, high above him in the half-darkness, and hissed.

Lena stared up at the statue with a morbid fascination. Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. His mouth opened wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.

And something was stirring inside it. Something was slithering up from the depths.

Fear washed over Lena, and she shut her eyes tight. Frantically, she tried to push herself up off the ground, but her body was still weak. Then, just as she heard the Basilisk hit the ground, she felt a pair of hands firmly grip her upper-arms and pull her up.

"I won't let it look at you," Riddle murmured. He let go of her arms. Instead, one of his hands captured her jaw and gently turned her head to the side. "You can open your eyes now."

Lena hesitated, listening to the sound of the Basilisk sliding along the floor. Once she was sure the noise was coming from the other side of the Chamber, she opened her eyes. In her peripheral vision, she could see that Riddle was standing right next to her, so close that they were practically touching. She strained her ears for any sound of Harry, but the only thing she heard was the slithering of the Basilisk's heavy body.

"Was Potter right?"

Riddle moved into Lena's direct line of vision, his eyes once again curious. His voice was low, barely above a whisper.

"About what?" replied Lena.

"About me being your father." He sounded almost nervous. "I mean, it's not like our appearances are dissimilar, and you are–"

"No," said Lena firmly, cutting him off.

There was a pause before Riddle asked, "You're sure?"

"Positive."

Riddle nodded slowly, and the corners of his lips turned up slightly.

It didn't escape Lena's notice. "You seem... pleased."

"Well, I must confess, now I've met you, I was rather hoping for a relationship of a different sort of... _intimacy_." His eyes flicked to behind Lena, and he began to laugh. Lena assumed he was watching Harry blindly attempt to run away from the Basilisk.

She bit her lip anxiously. She wanted to do something to help Harry, but what? Like a three-headed dog, a Basilisk was impervious to pretty much all curses – even a Killing Curse. A rooster's cry would be fatal, but Lena had no idea how create a magical replica of that – or if it would even work. Possibly if something was big and heavy enough it could crush it, but Lena suspected that nothing short of bringing down the entire Chamber of Secrets upon the Basilisk would work. And even if she had the strength to do that now, there would be an exceptionally high probability of such a collapse killing Harry as well.

Suddenly, there was a loud, almost explosive sound, and Riddle's face changed to an expression of fury. Then Lena heard an angry hissing and wild thrashing.

"No!" cried Riddle, enraged, and Lena, unable to restrain herself, risked a glance behind her.

The enormous serpent – bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk – had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. And then Lena saw what had made the Basilisk stop its attack on Harry.

There was some sort of bird, its plumage red and gold, soaring around its head, and the Basilisk was snapping furiously at it with fangs long and thin as sabres. Lena blinked, perplexed. Was that a phoenix? It certainly looked like one. But how was it here? And why?

Then she recalled one of the Hogwarts house-elves telling her that Dumbledore owned (if that was the appropriate term) a phoenix, which resided in his office.

And apparently it was also an ally of Harry's. The phoenix dived. Its long golden beak sank out of sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail thrashed, narrowly missing Harry. Lena saw that its eyes had been punctured by the phoenix; blood was streaming to the floor and the snake was spitting in agony.

Riddle strode past Lena, half-hissing, half-screaming at the now blinded Basilisk. The phoenix piped an eerie song that made the hairs on the back of Lena's neck stand on end. But her attention was momentarily drawn away from the two creatures' battle when she notice something on the Chamber floor that had not been there before. She squinted at the object. It was hard to tell, but it appeared to be made of black cloth. Starting towards it, Lena had to throw herself out of the way when the Basilisk's tale whipped across the floor.

She hit the stone ground, rolling several yards due to the sudden momentum. Wincing, she came to a stop, then struggled to her feet. She looked over to Harry to check that he was still alive. Her relief that he was, however, was somewhat surpassed by her bewilderment at what was on his head.

Although there was some distance between her and Harry, Lena could have sworn it was the Sorting Hat.

Then the Basilisk's tail swiped across the Chamber again. This time, it hit one of the pillars that had already been damaged by Lena's uncontrolled magic, and there was an explosion of rock.

It took about half a second for Lena to realise that the trajectory of one of the larger pieces, about the size of a classroom desk, meant it was heading straight towards Ginny. Desperately, she threw her hands out in an effort to magically catch it.

Less than two feet above Ginny, the rock came to a sudden stop, suspended in midair. But Lena could not yet sigh in relief. All her energy was entirely focused on holding the rock; she didn't have enough to push it away from the small girl beneath it. Her whole body shook with the effort of keeping the rock from falling and crushing Ginny.

Riddle's voice suddenly came from behind her. "What are you doing?" he said sharply.

Sweat was beginning to pour down Lena's face. "She doesn't have to die."

"She does if I want to live." He was standing next to her now, his eyes narrowed.

"You already are. Lord Voldemort's still alive–"

"But _I_ want to live." There was a distinct petulance to his voice that undercut its anger. He seemed to realise this, and changed tactics. "Consider what you could have, Lena," he said, low and seductive. "With me." He lightly touched her shoulder, then trailed his finger down her back, whispering, "Think of what we could do, what we could accomplish... _together_."

She and Riddle working together, pushing the boundaries of magical knowledge further than anyone else had done before... the possibilities seemed endless. It had once been her dream, but with Voldemort, _her_ Lord Voldemort, instead. But he was so much older than her, knew so much more than her – surely he would never see her as an equal. But maybe this younger version would... all she had to do to find out was just let go, and let Ginny die...

The exertion of keeping the rock in the air made Lena's voice tremble. "It wouldn't be worth her life."

"Pathetic," snapped Riddle. Contempt practically radiated off of him. "You could be so _powerful_ , so _great_. Instead, you allow weakness to hold you back."

That incensed Lena. "I'm not weak," she snarled.

"Prove it," whispered Riddle, leaning into her, so that his mouth was only an inch away from her ear. "Prove to me you're not weak, and let her die."

She looked behind her to see if Harry was still all right. When she laid eyes on him, she nearly dropped the rock in shock.

He appeared to be fighting off the Basilisk. With a sword.

Not allowing herself to be sidetracked by wondering from just where the fuck Harry had obtained a sword, she turned her head so she was looking Riddle directly in the eye."Compassion isn't weakness."

Riddle took several steps back. He stared at her, clearly perturbed. At last, he said, "You're not who I thought you were."

The disappointment and disgust in his voice sent a pang through Lena's heart. She was so unused to hearing them directed at her. She turned her gaze away from Riddle, and found herself looking at Ginny. A lonely, little girl whose only crime was wanting someone to listen to her. And now she was expected to pay the ultimate price for that.

So Lena made her choice.

She smiled at Riddle. "No. I'm better."

Then with every ounce of strength she could muster, she threw the rock at the Basilisk's head.

It crashed into the snake's jaw, causing the beast to rear its head and shriek in pain. Something clattered to the floor – half of a Basilisk's fang, broken by the rock.

Harry took the momentary respite to prepare himself, and when the Basilisk blindly lunged at him once more, he drove the sword into the roof of the serpent's mouth.

Riddle roared in dismay as the Basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching. Lena, reinvigorated, used the temporary distraction as an opportunity to Summon her wand from his pocket.

The moment she caught it, Lena felt her strength double. Riddle spun around to face her, and roared again upon seeing the wand in her hand. A manic look on his face, he drew Harry's wand from his pocket and aimed it at its owner, screaming, "AVADA–"

" _EXPELLIARMUS!"_ bellowed Lena, drowning out Riddle before he could finish the Killing Curse. The wand flew out of Riddle's hand and straight to Lena, who caught it. Holding her and Harry's wands in the same hand, she pointed both of them at the diary, then swung them towards Harry.

The diary took flight, zooming through the air, and landed, open, at Harry's feet.

"STAB IT!" she yelled.

Harry didn't question the command. He gripped the hilt of the sword in both hands and plunged its blade – now coated in Basilisk venom – into the heart of the book.

There was one fleeting moment in which Lena and Riddle locked eyes. And in that briefest of times, Lena saw two emotions flicker across his face.

The first was betrayal.

The second was fear.

Then there was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then...

The Chamber was silent, except for the steady _drip drip_ of ink still oozing from the diary.

Tom Riddle was no more.

* * *

 **So I decided that if Lena was there, things should go better for Harry in at least one way, and I thought Harry not being potentially mortally wounded was the way to go. Thus, I had Lena break off the part of the Basilisk fang that would have stabbed him. Hope you didn't mind the change :)**

 **I want to thank 19irene96, vballnikig** (thank you for not being mad about slow updates; I promise Remus will show up soon!), **Justmeesh33** (I'm glad you picked up on the similarities between Lena and Riddle. The idea I was trying to convey was that they're like distorted reflections of each other.) **and Annalise17 for their reviews, you guys are amazing :)**


	16. A Conversation with Albus Dumbledore

**So it's taken me an appallingly long time to update, and I am really, really sorry about that. Work got crazy, and then I was sick, but also: this is a really crucial chapter. Like, a turning point for the whole of _To Be Human_. There's a lot in this chapter, and there could have been much, much more, so it wasn't easy figuring out which bits to focus on, and what stuff to cut (or push back until later).**

 **At any rate - this chapter should answer some (not all) questions raised in the first fifteen chapters of this story. It might even be helpful to scan back through it all - but that's just a suggestion for if, by some miracle, you're actually really invested in all of this. It's not imperative.**

 **Anyway, I'll stop prattling on. Thank you to ICan'tThinkOfACleverUsername, Annalise17, vballnikig, Clara, and the guests for their reviews, you guys are awesome :) And I hope you all like this chapter...**

* * *

It was very nearly midnight, but the torches hanging from the walls of the first-floor corridor were still lit. Sitting a few metres away from the entrance to Professor McGonagall's office, with her back against the wall, her legs outstretched and ankles crossed, was Lena.

Inside the office, Harry was talking to Dumbledore, no doubt trying to get some answers from the headmaster about what had transpired in the Chamber of Secrets. Lena idly wondered if he'd find them. She was hoping that Dumbledore might be able to give her some. Or rather, she had a theory which she was dreading Dumbledore would confirm.

After Harry had destroyed the diary, Ginny had woken up, ashamed and tearful. It had been clear that there was much Harry wanted to ask Lena, but they'd put that all aside, their focus on calming down Ginny and getting out of the Chamber. On the way out, they had met up with Ron and Lockhart – who, to Lena's surprise and amusement, had accidently Modified his own memory and didn't have a clue who he was. Ron hadn't reacted well to seeing Lena, but an assurance of her innocence from Harry had left the youngest Weasley boy still wary, but less opposed to her presence.

However, the continued presence of the phoenix – Fawkes, Harry called him – proved to be a godsend, as it turned out the entrance to the Chamber was a steep, long slide. And as phoenixes could carry an extreme weight, Fawkes had simply flew them all back up to the bathroom. He had then led the dishevelled group to McGonagall's office, where not only the Transfiguration teacher and Dumbledore had been inside, but Ginny and Ron's parents too.

Lena had let Harry tell the story, only speaking up when asked about how she had ended up in the Chamber too. Mr and Mrs Weasley had been so concerned about Ginny that they hadn't been inquisitive about why the heir of Slytherin had wanted Lena, but she could tell that Dumbledore and McGonagall were certainly curious. Eventually, Dumbledore had sent all the Weasleys and Lockhart to the Hospital Wing, and McGonagall to the kitchens to ask the house-elves to prepare a midnight feast for the school in celebration of the Basilisk's victims waking up.

Seeing that Dumbledore had wanted to speak privately to Harry, Lena had asked if she could have a word with the headmaster after they had finished. That had been about three minutes ago. Tapping her fingers absentmindedly on the floor, Lena wondered how much longer they were going to be.

She was pulled from her musings by the sound of fast-approaching footsteps. Her first thought was that it was McGonagall returning from the kitchens, but then an unexpected figure turned around the corner.

Lucius Malfoy.

Lena had seen him at a distance in Knockturn Alley a few times over the last few years, but it had been over eleven years since they'd last been face-to-face. As the distance between them lessened, she noted that he appeared to have barely aged since then.

Lucius, on the other hand, took a few seconds longer to recognise her. When he finally did, he came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the corridor, staring at her, wide-eyed.

She was surprised he'd recognised her at all. Looking up at him with a pleasant smile, Lena greeted him quietly. "Hello, Lucius."

As Lucius struggled to find his voice, Lena finally realised he wasn't alone – a little behind, peering at her curiously, stood a house-elf.

"Lena," said Lucius at last. "I didn't..." He swallowed. "Well, you've grown."

"Not a particularly startling revelation, I'm sure," said Lena wryly. "But I am surprised you actually recognised me."

There was an awkward pause before Lucius replied, "There's something of a resemblance. " He didn't need to say to who, and Lena found she was glad for the omission. A slight frown appeared on his face. "What are doing here?"

Lena quirked an eyebrow. "I'm a student."

Lucius huffed. "I know _that,_ " he said impatiently. "I meant why–"

"I know what you meant," interrupted Lena. "I'm waiting to speak to the headmaster." She indicated to McGonagall's office with her thumb.

His eyes narrowed at the office's door. "Dumbledore's here?"

"Yes," answered Lena, "but he's with someone at the moment. I take it you're here on governors' business?"

Lucius' eyes flicked back to her. "Correct," he said. "Why–"

"I see avoiding Azkaban has done wonders for your complexion."

The former Death Eater went rigid. " _What?"_ he hissed.

Lena gave him a small shrug. "I'm just saying you look well," she said neutrally. "Not passing any judgement. How's Narcissa?"

"She's well," he said stiffly, clearly still mistrustful of Lena. He pursed his lips, and Lena could tell he was considering whether to tell her something. She patiently waited for him to continue. Eventually, he said, "She was... concerned about you, when Irina took you."

Lena stared at him incredulously. "Yes," she retorted, "her _concern_ was _so_ evident when she arrived at the house as soon as the news broke that my parents had been arrested. Oh, wait, that's right – she _didn't_."

Lucius' face became flushed. "We were trying to–"

"Put as much distance between Voldemort and yourselves as you could," interrupted Lena, ignoring the way he flinched when she said his old master's name. "I know." She sighed, rubbing her neck. "And I don't blame you," she continued in a softer voice. "You had an infant son to think about. His future was your priority. I get it."

The anger and suspicion in Lucius' expression ebbed away, and was replaced by what Lena could only describe as genuine sympathy."We thought that after the Ministry had found you and talked to you, that we would have been granted custody," he said quietly. "And we would have taken you in." He held her gaze for a few seconds, and Lena was surprised to see that there was almost a warmth in Lucius' usually cold grey eyes. "We wanted to. Your grandmother just got to you first."

Lena looked back up at him for a long moment, then extended her hand. After a brief hesitation, Lucius clasped the offered hand, and helped pull Lena up from the floor.

Steadying herself, she gave Lucius a small smile. "I think it probably all turned out for the best," she admitted.

Lucius nodded slowly. "Perhaps it did."

Looking behind him, Lena noticed the house-elf was still standing there, and had been watching their exchange with a great deal of interest. A name floated to the forefront of her mind. "It's Dobby, isn't it?" she asked the creature. She vaguely recalled seeing him upon a few occasions in her early childhood.

The house-elf's large green eyes widened. "Yes, Miss Lena," he said, hastily bowing his head. "Dobby is very honoured Miss Lena remembers his name."

Before Lena could respond, Lucius cut in."You didn't tell me why you're here to speak with Dumbledore."

"About what took place in the Chamber of Secrets earlier today."

Lucius looked at her sharply. Just as he opened his mouth to inquire further, the door to McGonagall's office swung open. Harry stood on the threshold, and upon seeing Lucius, his eyes widened in shock.

Lena frowned. No, it wasn't Lucius' appearance that had stunned him. It was Dobby's.

'Perhaps he's never seen a house-elf before,' she mused.

A sneer, meanwhile, had manifested on Lucius' face. "Mr Potter. What a surprise," he drawled, striding towards the door. Dobby quickly followed behind, but Lena remained where she was, leaning against the wall.

As Lucius entered the office, she heard him addressing the headmaster, "So, you've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

As the door remained open, Lena listened to the subsequent conversation with mild fascination. She wasn't particularly surprised to find out that Lucius had blackmailed the other governors to suspend Dumbledore. What was more surprising was to discover that it was Lucius who had planted Riddle's diary in Ginny's possession in the first place. She winced slightly when she thought about how Voldemort was going to react when he eventually found out that Lucius had unknowingly set in motion the destruction of one of his Horcruxes.

And when Lucius came storming out of the office (after kicking Dobby out first), Lena said as much to him. "He's going to be pissed," she murmured as he reached her.

Lucius stopped abruptly. "What are you talking about?" he hissed, warily glancing back at the office.

Lena tapped her fingers against the wall nonchalantly. "Giving away that diary to indulge your own personal vendetta," she said. "He's going to be _so_ pissed off." She shrugged. "Then again, he probably never told you what it really was, so it's at least partly his own fault."

Closing the distance so there were merely inches between their faces, Lucius whispered furiously, "The Dark Lord is _gone_! He has been for almost twelve years!"

Lena gave him her twisted smile. "Oh, you so badly want that to be true, don't you?" she breathed. "That would make things _so much easier_ for you." She dropped the smile. "Grow up, Lucius," she whispered harshly. "Do you really think that someone who could do the things he did would _die_ so easily?" Without warning, she seized his left forearm, right where she knew the faint outline of his Dark Mark remained. "He's coming back, and you need to start considering your options for when he does." She leaned in closer, and whispered in his ear, "For your son's sake, if not your own."

Then Lena shoved him away, releasing her grip. Lucius stumbled back, staring at her with a mixture of fury and fear. Wordlessly, he turned and stalked off down the corridor. Just as he was about to turn the corner, Harry burst out of the office, calling, "Mr Malfoy!"

Lucius spun back around just as Harry reached him. "What do–" he began to snarl, before he was cut off by the boy.

"I've got something for you," said Harry, forcing an object into his hand.

Lena furrowed her brow. It looked like Riddle's diary, but there was something else on it as well.

"What the– ?" Lucius ripped the something else off and threw it aside. Dobby caught it, and stared at it in wonder.

Just as Lena realised what it was, Lucius softly said to Harry, "You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter. They were meddlesome fools too." He turned to go. "Come, Dobby. I said, _come_!"

But Dobby didn't move. He was holding up a slimy sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless treasure.

And Lena would have bet all the money in her Gringotts vault that if Harry were to hold up his trouser legs at that moment, only one of his feet would be sock-clad.

"Master has given Dobby a sock," said the elf in wonderment. "Master gave it to Dobby."

"What's that?" spat Lucius. "What did you say?"

Lena held up a hand to cover her mouth, struggling to contain the laughter that she was afraid might escape her.

"Dobby has got a sock," said Dobby in disbelief. "Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby – Dobby is _free_."

Lucius stood frozen, staring at the elf. Then he lunged at Harry.

"You've cost me my servant, boy!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Lena withdrew her wand and pointed it at Lucius. Simultaneously, Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Harry Potter!"

There was a loud bang as both Lena and Dobby's magic hit Lucius at the same time, and he was thrown backwards into the wall. For a moment, he lay flat against it, as if pinned in place. Then he slumped to the floor. He staggered to his feet as Lena pocketed her wand, confident that Dobby had Harry's protection in hand. Once upright again, Lucius reached for his wand, but stopped when Dobby raised a long threatening finger.

"You shall go now," he said fiercely, pointing at his now former master. "You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now."

Lucius had no choice. With a last incensed stare at the pair of Harry and Dobby – and a brief glare towards Lena, for good measure – he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.

"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. "Harry Potter set Dobby free!"

As Harry replied, Lena noticed that Riddle's diary, dropped by Lucius when he'd been thrown back, was lying in the corner of the corridor. She held out her hand, and the tattered book zoomed straight into it. The movement didn't go unnoticed by Harry and Dobby.

Lena half-smiled at them. "I think I might return this to Dumbledore, if Lucius isn't keeping it," she told them. "Talk to you later, Harry?"

Harry returned a tentative smile. "Definitely."

She nodded an acknowledgement to Dobby, then headed into McGonagall's office, shutting the door gently behind her. Dumbledore was sat at McGonagall's desk, writing something, but looked up at the sound of her entrance.

"Professor," Lena greeted him, crossing over to the desk.

"Miss Lestrange," responded Dumbledore politely, inclining his head. His eyebrows raised slightly as Lena placed the diary on the desk. "I take it Mr Malfoy could find no further use for this item?"

Lena sat down so she was sitting directly opposite him. "I don't think _anyone_ has further use for it."

Dumbledore put down his quill, and leant back in his chair. Lena got the feeling that she was under inspection. "Would I be correct in the assumption," he said at last, "that you are aware of what was the true nature of the diary?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see." He tilted his head to the side, almost curiously. "Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe that we had never properly met before tonight?"

The corner of Lena's lip turned up into a slight smirk. "Yes, but I imagine that's hardly unusual, in terms of your interactions with students."

"It is unfortunate, but true," agreed Dumbledore. "And I must admit to you, Miss Lestrange, that now presented with the opportunity to privately converse with you, there is much I should like to discuss. However, the hour is now very late, and you have already been through much today. Therefore, I will put aside the urge to pander to my curiosity tonight, and instead do my best to answer the questions _you_ have for _me_."

"Thank you, Professor, that's very considerate of you."

Dumbledore smiled genially, but Lena was positive a wariness remained in his piercing blue eyes. "Now, there was something in particular you wished to ask?"

Before she realised she was doing it, Lena started to curl a loose lock of hair around her index finger. Meeting Lucius had pushed the theory she wanted to discuss with Dumbledore to the back of her mind. But now it was back at the forefront.

There was something that Riddle had said in the Chamber that hadn't really registered with Lena until the immediate threat was over. Not something he had said to Lena, but to Harry.

 _Because there are strange likenesses between us, Harry Potter._

"Yes, sir," she said, biting her lip. When she didn't immediately continue, Dumbledore gestured for her to go on. So Lena took a deep breath, looked the headmaster dead in the eye, and asked, "Is Harry one of Voldemort's Horcruxes?"

There was something almost satisfying about catching Dumbledore so off-guard. His whole body visibly tensed, his eyes widened, and his mouth even parted slightly in a silent 'Oh!' of surprise.

For almost ten seconds – although it felt much longer – Dumbledore said nothing; he simply gazed at Lena intently. For her part, Lena maintained the eye contact. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and low. "I will answer your question truthfully and with consideration, Miss Lestrange," he said, "if you will do me the same courtesy when I ask _you_ a question."

Lena crossed her arms. "I thought you said you weren't going to ask me any questions."

Dumbledore leant forward, resting his gnarled, long-fingered hands on the desk. Still he held her gaze. "That was before I knew what it was you wished to discuss," he said, his tone perhaps more serious than Lena had ever heard it. Gone was the kindly, eccentric old teacher, and in his place sat the most powerful wizard in the world. "And I will be frank with you, Miss Lestrange," he continued, frowning. "I am not comfortable discussing such matters with you. Certainly not without knowing the answer to what I must ask you now."

"And what is it you want to know?" asked Lena, an eyebrow quirked.

"Are you responsible for Lenora Travers' present condition?"

Now it was Lena's turn to blanch at a question. She gripped her arms tightly, and her mouth suddenly became very dry. Yet the two sets of blue eyes still did not break their contact.

Possible responses raced through Lena's head. Ambiguous replies, carefully worded answers. Then she shoved them all aside. Except for one word.

"Yes," she said simply.

If the admission shocked Dumbledore, this time he concealed it. After a short pause, he merely replied, "I see. How?"

Lena unfolded her arms and rested them on the sides of her chair. "Do you mean how did I do it?" she inquired, trying to keep her face and voice neutral while the mental image of Travers convulsing as her veins turned black became more and more vivid.

Dumbledore nodded. "You used some form of Dark Magic; that was evident. But the likes of which I have never seen before, or since. Was it a curse, or an object imbued with such magic? I am, of course, aware of your great aunt's profession..."

Closing her eyes momentarily, Lena almost felt as though she was eleven again, and back in that corridor with the older Slytherin girl.

Lenora Travers. One of the faces that had haunted Lena's nightmares for the last five years.

She opened her eyes, and steeled herself. After everything that had happed in the Chamber today, where she had come so close to completely letting darkness take her over, it was time to tell the truth. The whole truth.

"The origins of the magic lie in a Dark artefact, yes," Lena told him. "But it wasn't directly used in the... in _my_ attack." She saw Dumbledore start to furrow his brow in confusion. "The artefact I refer to," she added, aware of her heartbeat quickening, "is Hecate's Orb."

For the second time that night, Lena could see that she had genuinely stunned the headmaster.

"You mean to say," he said in a low voice, "that the... _affliction_ , from which Miss Travers now suffers was caused by–"

"Yes."

Dumbledore continued to stare at Lena, with an expression of almost disbelief. Then he took off his half-moon spectacles and produced a handkerchief from one of his robe pockets . "Miss Lestrange," he said, beginning to polish the spectacles, "you are talking about one of the most powerful magical objects in the world."

"I know that," said Lena quietly. "Firsthand."

With one final wipe, Dumbledore was bespectacled once more. He leant back in his chair, then interlocked his fingers, and rested his chin upon the clasped hands. "I think," he said, "that you should start from the beginning."

Lena placed her hands in her lap, and looked down at them. "The sixteenth of January, 1987," she said softly. "That's the day it all began." She looked back up at Dumbledore, who was watching her closely. "That was the day Valeriya brought home the Orb."

She took a deep breath, then began the story.

"Sometimes Valeriya brought me along to her deals. Sometimes she'd just show me when she came home, and teach me about it. But that evening, she came home carrying this suitcase I'd never seen before. She took it down into the basement, where she stored the objects that she purchased before moving them onto a buyer. When she came back up, I asked her what was in the suitcase. She told me it was something highly dangerous, the source for some sort of magical airborne disease, and that under no circumstances was I allowed to go near that suitcase.

But I didn't believe her. It was as though she was being almost _too_ casual about it, too dismissive. Usually when she brought back something that dangerous, she was very explicit about what it was, what it could do to me. This time, it was like she thought that if she downplayed the danger of the object, I wouldn't be so interested in it.

I knew if I tried to inquire any further about it, no matter how disinterestedly, that would put her on guard, and she'd make getting to it much harder. So I pretended to be indifferent, and Valeriya thought that was the end of it. I think she took me out with her the next few days just to be sure I wouldn't get bored at home and sneak into the basement. I went to the Ukrainian Dragon Conservation Park, the Wizarding museum in Sardinia, the street markets in Marrakech, Morocco. And when I wasn't going out, she had me reviewing the curriculum for First Year potions, until I could make every one flawlessly from memory. But I didn't forget about the suitcase.

Finally, about a week after Valeriya had brought it home, I had the opportunity to go down into the basement. Valeriya was off seeing someone about some vials of Occamy blood and my grandmother was stocking up on groceries and potion supplies. I was home alone.

Valeriya, of course, had all sorts of Protective Enchantments around the basement, but by that point I knew how to bypass all of them – not that I'd let her know. I found the suitcase. It took me almost half-an-hour to get through the magical locks because I'd never come across that sort of security before. Which made me all the more determined to find out what was inside. At last, I broke through the last lock and opened the case."

At this point Lena broke off, absorbed by the memory.

"Did you know what it was? Back then?" The sound of Dumbledore's voice brought Lena out of her reverie.

"Of course," replied Lena. "I mean, it took me a couple of seconds to realise it, but once I began to feel its effect... See, I first heard about Hecate when I was six. One of Valeriya's clients had a statuette of her, and told me a bit about her. The witch worshipped as a goddess, who lived for over three hundred years. I was fascinated, and read everything I could concerning her. I was nine when I first came across the Orb in my research, and there was barely anything there _except_ about how little information there was regarding it. So I asked Valeriya. She told me about how the Orb was believed by some to be the source of her life's longevity, and that Herpo the Foul supposedly created the first Horcrux in an effort to replicate it. That it potentially had the power to change reality itself, but that everyone who attempted to Master it was, sooner or later, destroyed by it."

Lena closed her eyes, allowing the memory to wash over her.

"And there it was, in the suitcase in front of me. Hecate's Orb, possibly the most powerful artefact in magical history, and it was literally within my _grasp._ And it wanted me to take it."

"It _wanted_ you?" asked Dumbledore sharply.

Opening her eyes, Lena smiled bitterly. "Oh yes. An object of that much power? Well, it has a certain... _sentience._ So I lifted it out of the case. For a couple of seconds, I didn't feel anything. But then...

I thought I was going to die. That's not being overly dramatic; I've been on the receiving end of a Cruciatus Curse. But this wasn't the same. It was like all the air had been expunged from my lungs. Then it was like I was drowning, but at the same time being burned alive. Like being cut open by a thousand knives, and being crushed by an avalanche of boulders. And then I heard the Orb again. Not as though it was speaking – I just suddenly knew I had a choice. That I could choose to end the pain, or choose to endure it. One choice meant death, the other eternal suffering.

Before the choice presented itself, I thought I would have done anything to end the pain. But when faced with Death... I _knew_ I would do _anything_ to stay _alive_.

And the moment I made my choice, the breath returned to my body and the agony ended. Because that's how the Orb works. It only allows you to live, to try to Master it, if you would _never_ choose Death. Under any circumstance.

I was only eleven years old, and I had passed its test. That filled me with the confidence – or rather, the arrogance – that I could be the one to finally, truly Master the Orb. I closed up the suitcase and redid all the locks so Valeriya wouldn't realise it'd been opened. It took much less time than I had expected – the work of the Orb, although I didn't realise it at the time. Then I took the Orb back up to my room, just in time to hide it before my grandmother came home. Valeriya arrived soon after, and I spent the rest of the day waiting for her to find out I had taken the Orb. But she didn't. I was thrilled. I could now learn how to control and use an object of such immense power that I could... well, I didn't know then, but I was eager to learn.

It wasn't until I was having my shower that night that I realised the Orb's test hadn't left me without its mark. There was a black blotch about the size of a Sickle on my chest, directly over my heart, with little half-inch-long black veins running out of it. I wasn't exactly sure what it was, but I guessed it had something to do with Orb. But it didn't hurt, and I didn't feel sick, so I wasn't overly concerned. I just thought that perhaps it was symbolic, a physical manifestation of my connection to the Orb.

Over the next few weeks I was careful not to spend an unusual amount of time in my room. I didn't want to raise Valeriya or my grandmother's suspicions. But when they were out, or occupied with something else, I would take the Orb out of its hiding place, and started learning how to use it.

It was like I'd been living in the dark until then, and now someone had finally turned on the lights, and I could _see_. Like going from running _into_ the wind, to running _with_ it. Moving objects around the room became simple as breathing. Transfiguration, which had never come easily to me, could be achieved with the snap of my fingers. I could create illusions that would have fooled even the most powerful wizards and witches. And that was just the beginning. Soon, as both my imagination and ambition expanded, I started to realise that there was _so much more_ I could do..."

"Such as?" Dumbledore's hushed voice was a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

Lena's breath hitched as memories – ones that she had tried to keep buried for six years now – flooded her mind. "I could change the shape of the ground – build hills out of nothing, remove trees so as if they'd never been there." She began to wring her hands uncomfortably. "I could bring dead plants back to life," she said quietly. "I could even stop time."

" _Stop time_?"

"For a short while," amended Lena. "Everything around me would freeze. The wind, people, even the rain once. Everything still – except for me."

"For how long?" questioned Dumbledore, staring at her with an uncomfortable intensity.

Lena shrugged. "I think about thirteen seconds was the longest I ever did. But I probably could have done more, if I'd–" She stopped herself.

The headmaster was frowning. "If you had what?"

A nausea was beginning to take hold of Lena. Desperate to finish telling Dumbledore her story, Lena tried to push the feeling away, clenching her fists so hard her knuckle's became paper-white. "If I'd had the Orb for longer," she said, half-whispering.

"Did Valeriya find out you had taken it?"

Lena shook her head. "I guess she hadn't found a buyer – or at least, one she was willing to sell to. No, for five months, the Orb was mine to do with as I pleased. And I was so, so _infatuated_ with its power that I didn't even care the black mark on my chest was beginning to grow, and the veins now extended to the edges of my torso.

Now, the other thing that was happening the same time as all of this was that I had started having conversations with my grandmother about which school to begin attending that coming September. I wanted to come to Hogwarts – actually, I was convinced I _needed_ to come here. But my grandmother wanted me to go to the Durmstrang Institute. It was where her parents had attended, and she thought that it would be more in line with my... _interests_."

Dumbledore cut in. "I must say, in light of everything you have told me, I am surprised that you did not wish to attend Durmstrang."

In spite of everything, Lena could not hold back a snort of laughter. "I know. Ridiculous, isn't it? I could have gone to a school that practically _catered_ to my desires and skills. Instead, I wanted to go to the one where _you –_ the enemy of the Dark Arts himself – were in charge."

"But why?" persisted Dumbledore. "Why did you feel such a strong urge to come to Hogwarts?"

Lena cocked her head. "Why did you?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?"

"After you graduated from here, you could have been anything you wanted, done anything you wanted," pointed out Lena. "Instead, you chose to come back here and teach. And correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that's not just because you felt a calling to the educator's life."

There were a few seconds of silence, before Dumbledore admitted, "There is, as I am sure you are aware, a certain degree of magic _ingrained_ into the very fabric of Hogwarts that makes it... unique."

"Exactly," said Lena. "And I had read enough about all the Wizarding schools to figure that out. So this is where I wanted to go. But every time I told my grandmother that, she would get angry. She told me it was a bad idea, that the name Lestrange would only bring me loathing and distrust at Hogwarts, that I would be ostracized from the moment I walked through the doors. That I would be under constant scrutiny, most of all," she looked directly into the professor's piercing eyes, "from _you_. And if there was anyone who wanted to associate with me, they'd be the sort to only bring me more trouble.

But I didn't care. I told her I didn't need people to like me, that I could deal with isolation perfectly well. And we would continue to argue until Valeriya would tell us to give it a rest. And then a week later, my education would be brought up in conversation, and the whole thing would start again. Neither of us would budge on the issue, and it was starting to get dangerously close to the deadline of making a decision. Then one day, we were arguing again. But this time, things..." Lena rubbed her eyes tiredly, and took a long, deep breath in and out. Then she met Dumbledore's gaze once again.

"Things got out of control."

 _Thursday 18 June, 1987:_

 _"I don't care, I'm NOT going to Durmstrang!"_

 _They were standing in the living room, on opposite sides. It was just Lena and Irina in the house; Valeriya still wasn't back from a meeting she had in Zagreb. They'd been shouting at each other for almost five minutes now, and they still weren't getting anywhere._

 _Irina let out a yell of frustration. "Ugh! Why won't you just listen to reason–"_

 _"Why won't you listen to MY reasons?!" shouted Lena, clenching her fists by her sides. Her grandmother was just being so infuriating, acting like she knew better than Lena. If only she knew of what Lena was capable!_

 _"I am just trying to protect you," yelled Irina, throwing her hands in the air in aggravation, "you_ stupid _girl–"_

 _"DON'T CALL ME STUPID!" screamed Lena._

 _Neither one of them noticed the crack beginning to appear in the wall to Lena's left._

 _"Then stop acting like a little child!" Irina was shouting._

 _The crack began to spread._

 _"If I'm acting like a child, it's because you're treating me like one!"_

 _"Because you have proved that you are clearly incapable of discussing things like a rational adult!"_

 _The crack had reached the ceiling, but it wasn't stopping there._

 _"You're the one who keeps bringing childish notions of friendship and loneliness into the conversation!" yelled Lena. Why couldn't her grandmother understand that expanding her magical knowledge and skills was the only thing that mattered when it came to her schooling?_

 _"Forming connections with people isn't 'childish', Lena, it's important!"_

 _"I have connections!"_

 _"Not business connections – social connections that aren't just about what you can get out of each other!"_

 _"Valeriya told me to never trust anyone–"_

 _"That doesn't mean she doesn't have people she cares about!"_

 _"Yeah? Like who?"_

 _Irina stared at her granddaughter incredulously. "How could you need to ask me that?" That was when she noticed the cracks now running through the walls and ceiling. "Lena–" she began, but she was cut off._

 _"You're just afraid of how powerful I'm getting! You're just scared–"_

 _"Don't be–"_

 _"–Scared of me!" shouted Lena over the top of her grandmother._

 _"You are being RIDICULOUS!" roared Irina. "Now, get a hold of yourself!"_

 _Lena's whole body was trembling in fury. "You're trying to hold me back!"_

 _"Hold you back? Lena, I'm trying to do what I've always done – protect you!"_

 _Everything suddenly became very still, almost like when Lena used the Orb to stop time._

 _"Protect me?" whispered Lena, staring at her grandmother in disbelief. "You, protect me?" A noise began to fill Lena's head. She didn't know what it was at first. Then it became clearer – a heartbeat. It rapidly became louder, pounding like a drum._

 _Then the sound was gone, and in Lena's hands, she held Hecate's Orb._

 _Irina face was frozen in shock. She took a step back. "What are you–" she began to croak, but Lena didn't let her finish._

 _"Protect me?" she repeated, her voice deathly quiet. "Is that what you were doing when you stood by and let my mother hex, jinx and curse me?_ Protecting _me?"_

 _Irina took another step back. "Lena–"_

 _"Is that what you were doing when you raised a son who would never give a damn about his_ own _child?" continued Lena, slowly approaching her grandmother, who was backing away. "Protecting me?"_

 _"Lena, please–"_

 _"Is that what you were doing when you took me in? Protecting me?" The temperature in the room was starting to drop, but Lena barely noticed, to focussed on Irina's fearful face. "Or did you do that because you wanted to make yourself feel better about all your previous COLOSSAL FUCK-UPS?"_

 _Irina flinched at the sudden volume. "Lena, just stop–"_

 _"No," hissed Lena. "I won't_ stop. _You are finally going to listen to what I'm saying– LOOK AT ME!"_

 _Irina, who had been desperately looking around the room as if for an escape, snapped her head back around to Lena, her eyes wide in fear. Anyone else might have felt a rush of pity. But Lena only felt disgust._

 _"I don't need your protection," snarled Lena, now less than two metres away from her grandmother. "I never have, and I never will. You are nothing."_

 _"Lena–"_

 _"Nothing but a sad old woman–"_

 _"Lena–"_

 _"–Who's upset because she's finally realised that when she dies–"_

 _"Lena–"_

 _"–Nobody is going to cry for her."_

 _Irina sunk to the floor, looking up at her granddaughter with tears streaming down her face. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out._

 _But something was coming out of Lena. Something black, that was somewhere between a liquid and a gas, but neither. It was streaming out of Lena's hands, and moving towards Irina._

 _When Lena spoke again, she barely recognised her voice. It was deeper, harsher, colder than she thought any human voice could possibly sound._

 _"_ And I have no further use for you. _"_

 _The black matter began to envelop Irina, just as Lena heard somebody coming through the front door – Valeriya, calling out that she was home. As the blackness began to enter Irina through her mouth, nose, ears, Lena started to feel faint. Barely conscious, she saw Valeriya running into the room, shouting at her, panicked. But Lena couldn't make out the words._

 _Then everything went black._

"That's the last thing I remember. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hotel room in Calais, France. Valeriya was sitting next to my bed, and she told me I'd been unconscious for three weeks."

"And Irina?" asked Dumbledore. His expression was unreadable.

"Valeriya told me she had gotten there just in time to stop the Orb. And that Irina was fine, but didn't want me under her roof any longer." Lena attempted to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Understandable, really."

"And Hecate's Orb?"

Lena ran a hand through her hair. "Valeriya was able to separate me from it, although it very nearly killed me. And her too, I think, although she's always been quite vague about it. And she sent it away. Far away. I've never asked where."

"But you weren't truly separated from it, were you?" said Dumbledore, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Not entirely," admitted Lena after a pause. She bit her lip, then made a decision. Shrugging her robe off her shoulders, she began to unbutton her shirt.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, presumably to protest her action, then stopped himself. She guessed he had realised what she was going to show him.

Undoing the third button, Lena held open the shirt, revealing to Dumbledore the Galleon-sized black mark that remained at the bottom, inner corner of her left breast, and the surrounding, two inch-long black veins.

"It's been like that for the last six years," she said softly. "No bigger, no smaller. Except on one occasion."

"Lenora Travers."

Lena nodded, buttoning her shirt back up. "From my very first night here, I made it clear to all the Slytherins – particularly those from families that had aligned themselves with Voldemort during the war – that I wasn't interested in making friends with them. Some of them didn't react to well to that, including Travers. One night, I was making my way back to the Slytherin Dungeon after dinner when she caught up with me. She... well, basically she tried to interrogate me on my views on blood status. I ignored her, and she got angry. Said my parents were heroes, and that they'd be ashamed of me." Lena's hands twitched. "That if they were her parents, she'd be doing everything she could to carry on their legacy."

In an effort to stop her hands from twitching, Lena dug her nails into her palms. She breathed in and out, very aware of how her every move was being studied by Dumbledore.

"And I got mad," she went on. "Really mad, for the first since that argument with my grandmother. Sure, there had been remarks, and looks, that had bothered me. But this was different. What Travers said... It was then I started to hear the same noise in my head. The heartbeat, like a drum. And I wanted to hurt her. Really, badly hurt her.

But before anything happened, a group of Hufflepuffs turned into the same corridor, and I... well, came to my senses, you might say. I broke away from Travers, and made sure to avoid her for the rest of the night. And later, back in my dorm, I thought about that noise in my head, and the mark still on my skin.

See, when I'd woken after being unconscious for three weeks, I thought everything had gone back to how it was before I'd touched the Orb. If anything, I was weaker than I had been. Things like igniting fires, shrinking and enlarging objects – they became more difficult. Honestly, I think the whole ordeal with the Orb stunted my magical ability for several years. And I can remember thinking to myself, after waking up that morning in Calais, that I would never seek out the Orb again. On that matter, I was resolute.

But as I lay in my bed that night, after the incident with Travers, it started to occur to me that the separation between myself and the Orb may not have been as complete as Valeriya and I thought."

Lena paused for a moment, twisting her hair around her fingers as she carefully considered her words.

"The best analogy I can give is a Muggle one – when I connected with the Orb, it was like a gunshot wound. Entry, but no exit. The bullet was lodged in my heart, and the black mark over it was the scar from when it had come through. And then Valeriya pulled it out, but left behind was some shrapnel. There was a small amount of the Orb's magic still running through my body, and up until then, it had remained dormant. But the rage I felt towards Travers awakened it.

I didn't run into her again until a week later. I was coming back from the library that evening, just before curfew. I had found a shortcut, a secret passage between it and the dungeons. But it just so happened that the corridor it opened onto was the one that Travers was walking along, on her way back to the Common Room. It was just us. Nobody else was nearby. We just stared at each other for a moment. Then–"

Lena broke off, and buried her face in her hands, sighing in frustration. She looked back up at Dumbledore earnestly.

"I don't know what she was thinking," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, "what she was planning to do. Maybe she thought she could intimidate me, or show me what Dark magic she could do. Maybe she was just being cautious. All I know is that she pulled out her wand, and I just reacted. Without hesitation.

The black stuff just poured out of me, far more quickly than it had when I tried to attack Irina. Travers opened her mouth, probably to scream, and it just went straight into her. And I watched it take over her body. Her eyes, her mouth, her veins. She fell to the floor, convulsing." A lump formed in Lena's throat, and she tightly clenched her fists. "And I just watched. It wasn't until I noticed that my own veins were turning black that I... I... well, actually _thought_ about what was happening.

I realised I was about to kill her. Somehow, that thought was enough to stop the black matter coming out of me. But I couldn't get it out of Travers. She just lay there, still. Staring up with those entirely black eyes. I knew she wasn't dead, but there was nothing I could do to reverse what had happened. So I left her there. I went straight to the bathroom in our dorm. Pulled off my clothes. And saw in the mirror that the black veins had spread up to my neck, around to my back, and down to my wrists and ankles.

I don't know exactly how I did it, but over the course of an hour, the blackness rescinded until all that was left was the original mark. Since doing some more research in the general area, I suspect that I somehow forced the Orb's magic to infuse itself with my own." The image of the veins on the back of her hands turning black flashed before her eyes. "I found some evidence of that tonight, back in the Chamber." She tiredly slumped back in her chair. "In any case, I haven't heard that heartbeat noise in my head since then. Not even at my most enraged. Or afraid."

For a long while, neither Dumbledore nor Lena said anything. They simply sat back in their chairs, Lena blankly staring at the wall behind the headmaster, while Dumbledore looked down at the desk, seemingly lost in thought.

Eventually, after a minute of silence, Dumbledore looked up, and said, "In answer to your earlier question: yes, I believe that inside Harry resides a piece of Voldemort's soul. Albeit quite unintentionally."

Lena blinked in surprise. She had half-expected that Dumbledore would refuse to give her an answer after everything she had told him. "Oh. Right."

"I must admit," he said, leaning forward, "I am curious – how did you arrive at that conclusion?"

Lena straightened in her chair. "Riddle – the diary, I mean – said to Harry that there were 'strange likenesses' between their selves–"

"Harry said as much when we spoke before," said Dumbledore. "It was a matter of great concern to him, I think."

"I'm sure it was," agreed Lena. "But I think the full connotations would have escaped his notice. I doubt even Riddle realised what he was saying. But I've spent the last six months trying to figure out how it's possible that Harry can be a Parselmouth. And as we were coming back up from the Chamber, I remembered what Riddle had said, and... well, it finally hit me. Harry speaks Parseltongue because Voldemort does. They're connected–"

 _'–Like the Orb and myself.'_ Lena finished the sentence in her head silently. She didn't think it needed to be said; no doubt Dumbledore could make that parallel on his own.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, but didn't say anything for a little while. At last, he said, "There is, of course, much more to be said on the matter. However, I think that enough has been said this night." He suddenly stood up, and Lena followed suit. "So I suggest that we join everyone else in the Great Hall for this celebratory feast – unless, you wish to visit Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing?"

Lena shook her head, feeling slightly bewildered. "No, I think I just need some rest..."

The headmaster inclined his head. "Naturally. Then tomorrow evening, we can resume this discussion." He picked a few items up off the desk, including Riddle's diary, and pocketed them. Then he gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"

Pushing her loose hair back behind her ears nervously, Lena hesitantly asked, "Um, does this... does this mean I'm not expelled?"

For one final time that evening, Lena felt the full force of Dumbledore's piercing gaze. Then the old wizard smiled.

"No, Miss Lestrange. I am not going to expel you."

* * *

 **So there you go! That's the end of the CoS section of _To Be Human_ (fun fact: I've now actually surpassed the wordcount of the real CoS book, which I find kind of exciting). Thank you to everyone who's stuck around this far, and I hope you continue to join me for the PoA segment - seeing as the character that most of you actually clicked on this story for is finally going to show up...**

 **Reviews are not only greatly appreciated, but very much desired :)**


	17. Who You Are

**Wow. It's been a year since I started this story. That's kind of crazy. Massive thanks to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed in that time :)  
**

 **I'd initially intended for this chapter to be relatively short, but as I was writing it, I realised there were so many things I'd left unaddressed from the last couple of chapters that I should probably do something about that, at least for a couple of matters.**

 **So here you have it: the first chapter of the PoA section. Hope everyone enjoys!**

* * *

 _Friday 23 July, 1993:_

 _Dear Miss Lestrange,_

 _I am writing to inform and congratulate you on your selection for the position of Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft for the school year 1993 - 1994._

 _You will find attached a list of your new position's responsibilities and duties. If you have any questions regarding them, please do not hesitate to write to your Head of House for clarification, or to address your concerns in person at the beginning of the new school year._

 _On 1 September, please report to the first carriage of the Hogwarts Express in order to brief our prefects on their roles and responsibility for this coming year._

 _I look forward to working alongside you and your fellow Head Boy this school year._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft_

For a few seconds, Lena just stared at the letter in disbelief. Then she looked between it, and the Head Girl badge she held in her other hand.

Then back at the letter. Then the badge.

Then she threw back her head and laughed. And laughed and laughed.

Oh, she couldn't wait to see Maggie and Rolf's faces when she told them the news.

 _Three Days Earlier_

"No."

"Severus–"

"Absolutely not."

"I have made my decision," said Dumbledore calmly, but his tone also carried a weight of finality. He was sitting at his desk, watching the Potions Master pace – or rather, prowl – around his office in a state of agitation. "I called you here today to inform you of it, Severus, not to ask for your advice upon the matter."

But Severus remained incensed. "You told me yourself that she admitted to attacking Travers!" he snapped. "So now you are... what, rewarding her for her _honesty_?"

"I would think," said Dumbledore quietly, "that you, of all people, recognise that a person can have the potential to change. For the better."

Subconsciously, Severus gripped his left forearm, and glared at the headmaster. After a pause, he said, "I also know that it takes an event of... serious consequence to _make_ someone change that drastically. Do you really think that's happened to Lestrange? She was the Dark Lord's _protégée_ –"

"And when she had the option to help Lord Voldemort," interrupted Dumbledore, "she instead chose to save the life of Ginny Weasley."

The memory of Lestrange dragging him to safety after he was attacked by Hagrid's blasted three-headed dog flashed in Severus' mind.

"Let me be clear," continued Dumbledore. "Lena Lestrange has given me reason to trust her." Severus opened his mouth to interject, but Dumbledore held his hand up to stop him. "I will not share those reasons with you, for they are entirely between Lena and myself. In any case, I have decided that she is the best candidate to fulfil the role of Head Girl this school year. And as her Head of House, and a senior member of staff, I expect you to maintain the utmost professionalism, regardless of your personal histories, and assist her when the need arises." His gaze was piercing. "Just as you have done for the previous Head Girls and Boys."

Severus wanted to continue arguing against the selection of Lestrange, but he had known Dumbledore long enough to realise the headmaster's mind was made up, and any further effort of dissuasion would be futile.

He crossed his arms unhappily."Will that be all," he asked through gritted teeth, "or was there something else you wished to inform me?"

"Yes, there is something else. It's regarding the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

* * *

A low rumble of thunder made Remus Lupin look up from his bowl of lukewarm, tinned tomato soup. As the rain began to fall outside, he felt some small sense of relief that he had taken the time the previous week to magically repair the leaky roof of his derelict cottage.

Reasonably confident that he was going to remain dry, Remus took another mouthful of tomato soup, and grimaced. It tasted horrible, but he forced it down. After all, he wasn't exactly spoiled for choice.

Before the next spoonful could enter his mouth, however, there was a knock at the door. Dropping his spoon, Remus frowned. Nobody else lived nearby, and visitors were extremely uncommon. Subconsciously, his hand reached for his wand.

There was another knock, and Remus hurriedly got to his feet. A flash of lightning briefly lit up the dim room, illuminating the weary wizard's scarred face – some marks old, some the remaining evidence of the last full moon.

Well, only evidence if one knew that Remus was a werewolf. Otherwise, one might assume that he'd simply come off worse in an unlucky encounter with a particularly aggressive Kneazle.

Clutching his wand tightly, Remus warily walked to the cottage's door, took a deep breath, then pulled it open so there was just enough of a crack out of which to peer. His jaw dropped slightly upon seeing who it was knocking, and he yanked the door open the full way.

Albus Dumbledore, Remus' former headmaster, stood on his doorstep. His wand was raised in order to maintain a magical umbrella over him, and his expression was pleasant despite the not ideal weather.

Remus, dumbfounded, just stared at the man.

His visitor, after a greeting from the would-be host appeared to be unforthcoming, spoke. "I believe," he said politely, "that it is customary, especially in conditions such as this, to invite an old acquaintance inside, if they should be at your door."

Remus hastily stood back to let Dumbledore in. "Of course, please come in, Professor Dumbledore."

As Dumbledore passed him, the older wizard said, "Thank you, Remus. And it would not be inappropriate for you to call me Albus, if you wish. After all, it has been quite some time since you were a student."

Shutting the door, Remus watched as Dumbledore stood in the centre of the one room that primarily made up the cottage, looking around with mild curiosity. Remus' face flushed in embarrassment. The one upside in being alone in the world these past years had been that there was no one to see him living in such squalor. And he thought that Dumbledore, grand wizard he was, looked very out of place in the rundown cottage.

It had been three years since he'd last seen the headmaster of Hogwarts. He remembered the occasion very clearly, as it had been Remus' father's funeral.

"I should apologise," said Dumbledore suddenly, "for this sudden and unannounced visit." He glanced over at the table, where the bowl of Remus' half-eaten soup sat. "It was very inconsiderate of me."

"Not at all," said Remus quickly, although he couldn't help thinking that some warning _would_ have been nice.

"I'm afraid I'm on something of a deadline," explained Dumbledore, "and my coming here was not something I had decided on before today. But please, don't let me keep you from your meal."

Remus waved the invitation away. He was going to heat the soup up again anyway. He did, however sit back down at the table, and gestured for Dumbledore to join him, which he did.

"Well then," said Dumbledore, "without further delay, I will answer the question that I know you wish to ask me. I am here, Remus, because I wish to offer you the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts."

For a few seconds, Remus just stared at Dumbledore in disbelief. At last, he said flatly, "I'm a werewolf."

"Yes," replied Dumbledore simply, "I am well aware of the fact. Do you accept my offer?"

Remus continued to look at Dumbledore in confusion. Had the old wizard finally cracked? "You're asking a _werewolf_ to be a teacher?" he said incredulously. "At a school? For children?"

"Well, I am asking you," said Dumbledore unconcernedly, "and you are a werewolf. So yes, that is correct."

Folding his arms, Remus leant back in his chair. "You really think there isn't a choice better than me?"

"If there is, they didn't apply for the job."

"Did anyone?"

There was slight pause before Dumbledore answered, "No."

Letting out a noise of frustration, Remus stressfully ran a hand through his light brown hair. "Prof– Albus, me teaching is a _terrible_ idea–"

"Are you currently otherwise employed?"

Remus blinked. "What? No, I'm not."

"Did you not receive an Outstanding on your Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT?"

"Well, yes I did–"

"Then I think you make an excellent candidate for the position," said Dumbledore, smiling genially.

This, however, only made Remus angry. "You would be endangering the students!"

"Not if you were to take Wolfsbane Potion."

The anger, quickly as it had come, left Remus. "Wolfsbane?" he repeated quietly.

Dumbledore nodded. "A constant supply. I've heard the change it affects in the user is remarkable."

"I wouldn't know," muttered Remus. "I've never taken it. Never had the mon– opportunity."

"But you would like to?"

It took Remus some restraint not to snap, ' _Obviously'_. Ever since he had heard of the potion's invention five years ago, the idea of not completely losing himself every full moon had been a tantalising dream. "I would be very... _appreciative_ of it," he finally said. A thought occurred to him. "But even if you were to supply me with the ingredients, I wouldn't have the skill necessary to make it."

"That's of no concern," said Dumbledore with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It would be the Potions Master's responsibility to brew the potion."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "The Hogwarts Potion Master being Severus Snape?" he said sardonically. He scoffed. "Like he'd be willing to do that for me."

A slight frown appeared on Dumbledore's face. "I understand that there has been much ill-will between the two of you in the past, but I assure you, Remus, that Severus will make the Wolfsbane Potion for you correctly, every month, if you accept this position I am offering you."

Remus didn't say anything for almost a whole minute as he considered the offer. A good, steady wage, improved living quarters, a chance to work alongside some of the witches and wizards he respected most... On the other hand, the potential risk of turning into his fully monstrous, werewolf self at Hogwarts and attacking innocent children.

With all of that in mind, Remus made his decision.

* * *

 _Sunday 15 August, 1993:_

"Head Girl? Seriously?" Harry couldn't contain his laughter. "Oh man, Percy's in for the fright of his life!"

Lena smirked. "So he is Head Boy then? I thought he would be."

Harry nodded, still chuckling. "Yeah, Ron told me in a letter a couple of weeks ago."

They were sitting outside Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, enjoying their sundaes in the warm early afternoon sun. It had been just over a week since Harry had accidently blown up his Aunt Marge and had taken up residency in the Leaky Cauldron for the remainder of the summer. It was, however, the first occasion since the end of the previous school year he'd had to meet up with Lena. And thankfully, after the lengthy conversation that had taken place between the two back then, their friendship was stronger than ever.

 _Two days after the defeat of Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets found Harry sitting with Lena in their usual place, the secret room at the top of the tower. They were sitting in the armchairs opposite each other, dimly lit by the late afternoon sun shining through the circular window._

 _"But that was him, standing next to you, wasn't it?" Harry was saying, his hands gripping the chair's arms in aggravation. "I saw it."_

 _Lena sighed, fiddling with her plaited, long black hair. "It was Voldemort, yes," she admitted finally. "At least, how I remember him from when I was younger. But that image you saw, it wasn't real."_

 _She bit her lip, and Harry suspected she was internally debating whether to tell him the whole truth. He guessed she had come to a decision when she dropped her hair, and clasped her hands in her lap, taking a deep breath. "What you saw was a reflection created by the Mirror of Erised."_

 _Harry straightened in his chair. "The Mirror?" he asked. "You looked into it?"_

 _Lena nodded. "Before Dumbledore put the Stone in it and moved it into the Dungeons, it was being kept in an empty classroom, on the–"_

 _"–First-floor corridor," interrupted Harry. "I know, that's where I first came across it." His stomach churned. "And that's what you saw when you looked into it? You and Voldemort?" He couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice._

 _Lena closed her eyes for a moment, then abruptly stood up and walked over to the window. She rested one hand against the glass, and held the other over her stomach. From the way her shoulders hunched over, it looked like she wanted to throw up._

 _Eventually, she said, or rather croaked, "Yeah. That's what I saw."_

 _Now Harry thought he would vomit too. "Your deepest desire," he said, his voice quiet but filled with anger, "the thing you want more than anything else, is to be_ with Voldemort _?"_

 _"No," whispered Lena, her face still turned away from Harry as she stared out the window. "It was for him to be proud of me."_

 _Harry shook his head slowly. "That's..."_

 _"Sick?" suggested Lena, turning around to face him. She was smiling bitterly. "Demented? Oh, believe me, I_ know _." She folded her arms tightly, as if hugging herself. "As soon I realised what I was seeing, I had to run to the nearest bathroom and throw up. Several times. Then I didn't sleep for about a week because I felt so awful."_

 _Harry furrowed his brow, puzzled. "I don't understand. If it's your – your deepest desire, why did it make you feel sick?"_

 _Lena leant back against the window, shutting her eyes. "It's... complicated."_

 _For a moment, Harry didn't say anything. He simply stared at the older girl who – considering everything he knew, everything she had just said – he should hate._

 _"Do you know what I saw the first time I looked in the Mirror?" he said._

 _Lena opened her eyes, and looked at him warily._

 _"My parents," continued Harry, not shifting his gaze from Lena's face. "The thing I wanted above all else was to see my parents. Meet them._ Know _them. And I can't ever have that, because Voldemort murdered them." He struggled to keep his voice calm, as at that moment he really wanted to shout at Lena. "So if you have some twisted reason for why_ he _matters so much to you..." he swallowed, trying to stop a lump from forming in his throat. "Well, I think I deserve something better than 'it's complicated'."_

 _While he spoke, the expression on Lena's face gradually became more pained. Slowly, she slid to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest._

 _She looked down as she softly said, "He matters because I mattered to him, and no one else."_

 _Harry crossed his arms, frowning. "What do you mean?"_

 _Lena shrugged, still not looking up. "I mean he was the first person whoever cared about me."_

 _Unable to help himself, Harry scoffed in disbelief. "Really? Voldemort doesn't care about anyone–"_

 _Her head snapped up. "He cared about_ me _," she hissed, and Harry was taken aback by the sudden venom in her voice and eyes. Then quickly as it had come, it disappeared, and Lena let out a long, shaky breath. "He was kind to me," she said simply, shifting her position so she was sitting cross-legged._

 _Not entirely sure why, Harry got up and went over to her. He sat on the floor, mirroring Lena's position. His anger beginning to subside into an intense curiosity, he asked, "How was he kind?"_

 _"He complimented me," said Lena, sounding almost... wistful. "Encouraged me." A resentment briefly took hold of her expression. "Stopped my mother from hurting me, when he could."_

 _Harry looked at Lena in surprise. She had never hid her distaste for her mother from him, but she'd never openly admitted that the woman had hurt her. Unsure of whether to press that issue with Lena, he was saved from having to make a decision when Lena continued._

 _"He gave me lessons," she said. "For two hours, one day a week." She half-smiled. "Every week. He never missed a lesson, not one."_

 _"Lessons on what?"_

 _"Basic magical theory. Wandless magic. Legilimency and Occlumency."_

 _Harry was unfamiliar with the last two. "What are they?"_

 _"The former is the ability to look into someone's mind, to see their memories and what they're thinking at that moment. The latter is the skill to prevent someone from doing it to you."_

 _Harry gaped at Lena. "Are you saying you can read minds?"_

 _Lena snorted, and for a short while, what Harry thought of as the 'old Lena' – the girl who could answer any question he had for her – returned. "That's oversimplifying it. Minds aren't books: memories don't follow each other in a neat, linear fashion, and what someone is thinking doesn't just appear like words on a page. Everything's much messier, more confusing." She began to roll her plait between thumb and index finger. "It's like a house. A giant house, with lots of storeys and rooms, and inside those rooms are hundreds of objects which can tell you a story, but only if you put it together just the right way. And the rooms don't always stay in the same place – sometimes they might move down or up a floor. Sometimes they become smaller. And they keep getting smaller until they're more of a cupboard than a room. Then maybe one day there's nothing there at all, except a single object from that room, lying on the floor of a corridor, gathering dust. A Legilimens is someone who can enter another person's house and navigate their way around it."_

 _That did sound sufficiently more complex than just opening a book and reading it. "And you can do that?" inquired Harry._

 _Lena let go of her hair and waved her hand dismissively. "To a degree. I'm more proficient at Occlumency. Actually, that's how you came to see that reflection from the Mirror of Erised. You see," she said, seeing Harry's questioning gaze, "if the mind is a house, Occlumency is the wall you build to surround it, to stop intruders."_

 _She paused, tapping her fingers on her knees thoughtfully. Harry refrained from asking her any of the million questions he had, and waited for her to keep going._

 _Finally, she spoke again. "In the Chamber, when you said you thought I was Voldemort's daughter... after everything, I was already in a somewhat..._ fragile _state. Basically, it sent my brain into overload. That is to say – to stick to the whole house analogy – that there suddenly were too many things in the house, so the house had to become bigger to accommodate them all. But the wall around the house didn't grow with it. And so as the house expanded, it smashed down the wall. And the force of that meant that some of the objects, well, fell out of the house."_

 _"And one of those was your memory of looking in the Mirror," finished Harry, finally understanding._

 _Lena half-smiled. "And like a ball, it rolled. Straight into your house. Your mind."_

 _Harry didn't return the smile. "And Voldemort taught you about all of this stuff."_

 _"I guess I had a natural aptitude for the subject," replied Lena with a small shrug._

 _But Harry's expression remained cold. He still felt so angry at her._

 _Lena appeared to sense this, and as she let out a sigh, the old Lena vanished once again, and before Harry sat the uncertain and dejected girl._

 _"Harry," she said quietly, "I was four years old when I first properly met him, when I started his lessons. And those lessons were about magic. He didn't really talk to me about his views on Muggle-borns, on blood purity."_

 _Harry crossed his arms. "Did you know he murdered people?"_

 _Lena hesitated, and bit her lip. "Yes," she finally answered._

 _"Then how could you–"_

 _"Because I didn't know it was wrong."_

 _He stared at her in disbelief. "How could you not know that murder was wrong?" he said, his voice cracking on 'murder'._

 _The sadness on Lena's face suddenly disappeared, replaced by irritation. "Because the only people I knew were Death Eaters!" she snapped. "Because I spent the first six years of my life locked up in a house, with no example of normal, human decency to influence me! Because I was told the murder of muggles and those born of them was righteous, and to create a better world for people like me!"_

 _She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in and out._

 _Following a brief silence, Harry hesitantly asked, "Then why... why don't you believe that now?"_

 _Lena stared at Harry for a few seconds, visibly pained. "I wish," she said at last, her voice slightly shaking, "that I could say it was because somewhere deep down in my heart that I knew it was wrong. That there was a morality inside of me that didn't need to be taught." She swallowed. "A goodness. But the truth is that I just hated my mother so much that I wanted everything she said to be wrong. I didn't really care about muggles or Muggle-borns back then. So when Voldemort was nice to me,_ kind _to_ me – _the first time anyone had been – what he did to other people... I guess it just didn't matter to me. At least, not enough to reject him." She hung her head, seemingly ashamed._

 _Harry wanted to stay angry at Lena, but looking as pathetic as she did now, it was difficult. He remembered how reluctant she had been to give him an answer a few months ago when he'd asked her if she believed that people weren't either 'good' or 'bad'. Now, he was beginning to understand why: the issue was far more complicated for Lena than he could have imagined._

 _"But it matters to you now," he said. "Otherwise you would have let Ginny die."_

 _Lena looked back up at him, and nodded slowly. "It was only once I'd left England and started travelling with my great aunt," she explained. "Suddenly, my world was no longer enclosed by four walls. It was bigger and stranger than I could have ever imagined. I saw societies, both muggle and magical, that lived in peace, and others torn apart by conflict. I saw prosperity, and I saw suffering. Everything became infinitely more complex, except one thing."_

 _Harry raised his eyebrows. "And what's that?"_

 _"That to hate someone because of what they are is wrong."_

 _Of everything Lena could have said, Harry had not expected that. He tilted his head curiously. "Are you saying that you don't hate anyone?" he asked, sceptical._

 _A small noise of amusement escaped Lena. "Merlin, no," she said, half-smiling. "There's plenty of people I hate. But that's because of_ who _they are, not_ what _they are." She scratched the back of her head. "Does that make sense?"_

 _Harry nodded. He didn't quite know why, but when she put it like that, he just understood the differentiation ._

 _"And please know," continued Lena, "that I didn't meet with you here today to defend myself. Because I assure you, Harry, that I don't go to bed at night with a clear conscience. Not ever." She clasped her hands in her lap and looked directly into his eyes, earnest. "I'm telling you all this because I want you to understand that I've done bad things, thought bad things. And there are some connections to... to who I was that are hard to break. Some things are just part of me, and I don't think I can ever be rid of them." She took a deep breath. "But I'm trying to be better now. I promise."_

 _Harry held her gaze for a long moment. The girl who had wished that his parents' murderer was her own father, who had loved him like one._

 _And who had ultimately rejected the chance of being with him again, in order to save the life of a child she barely knew._

 _Harry stood up. "You're the daughter of Death Eaters," he said, looking down at Lena, whose expression became apprehensive. "And I can't ignore that fact. But," he went on, "that's_ what _you are._ Who _you are," he extended his hand down, "is my friend."_

 _Lena stared at the offered hand for about five seconds. Then her face broke into a smile – not a sad one, or a smirk, but a genuine smile – and she took Harry's hand._

Harry took another mouthful of his caramel-choc sundae. He hadn't exactly had a lot of ice-cream in his life, but he felt fairly certain that it couldn't get much better than Florean Fortescue's.

He swallowed, and said to Lena, "So, other than finding out you're the new Head Girl, what else have you been up to?"

Lena, licking her spoon, shrugged. "Well, I don't think anything else has been _that_ surprising. Visited some of my aunt's old friends that I hadn't seen in a while, read some books, stuff with Maggie and Rolf, my school shopping, got my driver's licence–"

Harry almost spat out his ice-cream. "You what?!"

Lena smirked. "I take it that was more surprising than the Head Girl thing."

"But why – I mean, _how–"_

"Valeriya's always been of the belief that's it important to learn as many different skills as possible," said Lena, "and particularly ones that are non-magical in nature. As for _how..._ " She chuckled. "Well, it's possible that all the associated paperwork may not have been filled out in a strictly _legal_ way – at least, in the muggle sense – but I did definitely learn to drive a car."

Harry put down his empty cup and folded his arms, looking at Lena suspiciously. "And was the car you learned to drive in obtained in a strictly _legal_ way?" he asked slyly.

Lena snorted. "Nah," she deadpanned, "I nicked some random muggle's car. 'Cause it's not like I just have huge piles of money lying in a vault which I can use to spend on an extravagant muggle-made machine. Because I wouldn't get any satisfaction out of using the inheritance of my blood-purist, muggle-hating family on something like that."

There was a short pause.

"So you bought a car?"

"I bought a _really_ nice car. And I'm keeping it at the Lestrange Estate."

They watched as a group of forty-something year old witches strolled past, chatting loudly. Diagon Alley was relatively quiet that day – in fact, Harry thought it was probably the emptiest he had seen the popular street.

"Lena," said Harry suddenly, "you're sort of an expert on wandless magic, aren't you?"

"Erm... I think expert's a bit of a stretch." Lena hesitated. "I guess I know I bit more than most European wizards and witches," she finally conceded. "Why, what do you want to know?"

"Well," began Harry, "when I, um, _inflated_ my aunt, that was accidental magic, like I used to do before I found out I was a wizard. It's the only time ever since I got my wand that–"

"That you've used magic without it," finished Lena. "So you're wondering how does one go from accidental magic to intentional wandless magic."

"Yeah."

Lean leant back and stretched her arms out, making Harry wince when they made a loud _crack_. "Simply put, in order to perform wandless magic accurately, you have to perfectly balance two things: emotion, and focus. Accidental magic happens when a witch or wizard is purely driven by emotion–"

Realisation struck Harry. "Which is why it's more common in young children."

"Exactly. It's a physical manifestation of an emotional outburst, and there's no way to predict what it will do. Now, the reason we give children wands when they start their magical training is that they are the easiest and most effective tools to focus and concentrate their powers. It is worth noting, however, that this method isn't universal. For instance, in most African Wizarding cultures, they use specific hand gestures to cast spells."

"And that's what you use, right?"

Lena inclined her head. "As a general rule, yes. So these hand movements work much in the same way as wands, except that they don't also provide for the emotional side of the equation. That's why they're more difficult to learn."

"But isn't it also about being more powerful?" questioned Harry. "That's what people say when someone can do wandless magic – that they must be extraordinarily powerful."

"Then people are saying a load of bullshit," replied Lena with a derisive sniff. "The whole idea of someone having _more_ power than another – that's not how magic works. It has nothing to do with _quantity_ , it's about _quality._ No wizard or witch has _more magic_ than any other. You either have it, or you don't. It's all about how you _use_ it, how you control it, and what you're willing to try." She leaned forward, a wry smile on her face. "I didn't learn how to do wandless magic when I was little because I was a child with extraordinary _power_ – it was because I was a child with extraordinary _focus._ "

"So... what you're kind of saying is that it's..." Harry racked brains for the right words. "That when it comes to magic, it's basically 'mind over matter'?"

Lena grinned. "Now you're getting it." She noticed that Harry was attempting to conceal a smile. "What?"

"Just..." Harry ran a hand through his hair, and shook his head slightly. "Never mind."

Lena continued to look at him curiously, but didn't pursue it any further. Instead, after a quick glance at her wristwatch, she told Harry, "I'm sorry, but I've got be off now. I'm supposed to be meeting Valeriya in a few minutes."

But as Harry walked back to the Leaky Cauldron after they'd said their goodbyes, he couldn't stop thinking it: if Lena had been their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry's class would have learned a lot more in the last two years.

* * *

 **Fun fact: My original name for this chapter was 'New Appointments'.**

 **So, there you have it: the introduction of Remus Lupin in _To Be Human_. I''ll be honest, I'm not particularly satisfied with how I attempted to capture his voice and character - but I suspect that it's something I can only improve the more I write him. Any thoughts?**

 **In any case, thank you for reading, and hopefully I won't make you wait too long for the next installment...**


	18. The Werewolf, the Witch and the Dementor

**Hurrah for updates that take less than a month!**

 **Thank you to Corii00, vballnikig, rebelforcauses and Justmeesh33 for their lovely reviews. I'm glad people are enjoying the character of Lena.  
**

 **In response to FreidenSchmi's query about Chapter 16: The midnight feast after Harry's adventure in the Chamber is taken directly from the CoS book. It's partly in celebration of defeating the heir, partly because the Basilisk's victims are woken up during that night.**

 **Anyhoo, once again I want to thank everyone following this story; it's nice not to be just writing into the internet's void. And welcome to all the new followers - here's hoping you stick around :)**

 **So here's Chapter 18, the second instalment of the PoA section of _To Be Human._ Hope everyone enjoys!**

* * *

 _Wednesday 1 September, 1993:_

"Now, regarding today's patrols on the train. You will each be assigned one carriage, for a one-hour long patrol. You are to make sure nobody is using magic, loitering in the corridors, or allowing their pets out of their cages. You are also there to answer any questions our First Years may have. The Prefects on duty for the first round of patrols are: Hubert Goddard, Karima Siddiqui..."

As Percy Weasley listed off the names of the Hogwarts' Prefects, Lena tried to connect them with the faces of the students around her, but with little success.

Part of the reason she had arrived at least half an hour early to the Hogwarts Express that morning had been so that she could try to find out all the names of the Prefects as they entered Compartment A for their first meeting of the year. But it had soon become apparent that there wasn't going to be any small talk with Lena.

The reactions from the Prefects as they'd walked into the compartment to find her there had been varied, from shocked to... well, _very_ shocked.

It was Weasley, however, who'd had the stand-out reaction to Lena's presence. He had made quite the entrance into Compartment A. At precisely eleven o'clock, the door had swung open, and in had strode the new Head Boy, already dressed in his uniform, his badge proudly displayed on his puffed out chest, and an incredibly smug and satisfied expression on his face.

Until, upon seeing Lena sitting amongst the other Prefects, it suddenly turned a quite remarkable shade of puce. Behind his horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes had bulged. It took him a few attempts, but he had eventually been able to ask, "Whaaa... what are you doing here?"

Lena had simply smiled pleasantly, and gestured to the Head Girl badge she'd pinned on her cardigan. To which Weasley had responded with some indistinct noise of shock – and possibly outrage.

"Congratulations on your appointment," Lena had said sweetly. "I'm _so_ looking forward to working with you this year."

She suspected it was probably only the presence of the other Prefects, and Weasley's fear of looking bad in front of them, that had stopped him from throwing a hissy fit right there. Instead, he had jerkily nodded his head, and said in a strained voice, "Yes. Excellent." Then he had gingerly sat down next to her, and had studiously avoided looking at her since.

She had decided it was probably best to let him do all the talking in this first Prefects' meeting, considering she had zero experience in the area of being a Prefect. It was a decision which Weasley had not contested. But his droning voice was not particularly effective at keeping his audience engaged, and so for most of the meeting, Lena was very aware of the many pairs of curious eyes watching her – or her Head Girl badge (those eyes were more disbelieving than curious). She imagined they thought they were being discreet.

' _Well, they're sadly mistaken,_ ' she thought. _'They might as well be pointing too._ ' Occasionally she would make eye contact with one of them. She didn't think her expression was particularly intimidating, but they would flinch and quickly turn their attention back to Weasley.

' _Maybe I should smile,'_ Lena wondered to herself. ' _Perhaps they would find that less threatening_.' Feeling the eyes of one of the female Prefects from Hufflepuff – Lena couldn't remember what she had said her name was – upon her, she turned to the girl and attempted a welcoming smile.

The girl's eyes widened in fear, and she immediately stared down at the floor.

' _Okay, smiling makes it worse. Good to know.'_

So for the rest of the meeting, Lena just looked down at her lap, and listened to Weasley's lecture.

It didn't take long for her to realise that Weasley had stopped giving out new information, and was just saying the same thing in as many different ways as he could. She risked a look around the compartment. The Prefects were either staring at their Head Boy with a glazed-over expression, constantly checking their watches and fidgeting uncomfortably, or looking at Weasley in a way that suggested they were fantasising about gagging him with his school tie, stuffing him up onto the luggage rack, and leaving him there for the train's return trip to London.

The latter were mostly Slytherins.

 _'Someone really should shut him up_ ,' thought Lena. Then she noticed that Gemma Farley and Fakhir Kahn were looking at her. Not curiously, like everyone else, but pointedly.

' _Oh. That someone's me._ '

The next time Weasley paused to take a breath, Lena cut in. "Well, I think that covers all of your responsibilities and duties as Prefects. And now, as it's–" she checked her wristwatch, "– five-past-twelve, it's probably about time to begin that first round of patrols – wouldn't you say, Weasley?"

"Er, yes, of course. But I would just like to reiterate–"

"Does anybody still feel unclear about their role as Prefect?" Lena addressed the compartment.

Everyone shook their heads.

"Wonderful. Thank you to our Head Boy for his very _thorough_ explanation. Now, on behalf of both of us, I'd like to once more congratulate our Fifth Years on their new appointments–" she paused to lead a brief round of applause, then continued, "– and welcome back our Sixth and Seventh Years. Good luck to you all, and we hope you have a great year." She turned to Weasley to ask him if there were any final, _quick_ things he wanted to say, but was interrupted by someone saying, "Thank you, Lestrange."

It was Farley, who was swiftly joined by Kahn, also saying, "Thank you." This was followed by a muttered chorus of 'Thank you' from the rest of the Prefects. Lena got the sense that there wasn't a lot of sincere gratitude.

' _But,'_ she had to admit, _'it's a step up from flinching at the sight of me."_

" _Ahem,_ " coughed Weasley, bring the Prefects' attention back to him. "Well, if there are no further questions, you are all free to go back to your compartments until your assigned patrol time. Except Goddard and Siddiqui, who have the first patrol with me."

There was a flurry of movement and noise as the prefects stood up, chatting to each other excitedly. Lena made to stand up, but was stopped by Weasley.

"Actually, Lestrange, I was hoping to have a word with you before I start my patrol."

Settling back into her seat, Lena considered the possible reasons that Weasley would want a private conversation. _'Merlin, I hope it's not the 'We've had our disagreements in the past, but I'm willing to give you a chance' speech,'_ thought Lena, watching Weasley say goodbye to every individual prefect as they left. Most of them took one more backward glance at Lena, undoubtedly trying to reassure themselves that no, they hadn't been hallucinating: Lena Lestrange was the new Head Girl. She estimated that it would take about four minutes for the news to spread throughout the entire Hogwarts Express.

Once the compartment was otherwise empty, Weasley shut the door, and faced Lena, properly looking at her for the first time since he'd entered the compartment.

Lena folded her arms, waiting for him to speak.

After a couple of seconds of silence, Weasley cleared his throat. "I just wanted to – that is to say, I never got a chance, last year, after everything – well, to thank you for everything you did for my sister."

Well, she hadn't expected _that_.

She rubbed her neck awkwardly. "Oh, well, I didn't really do much, it was mostly Harry–"

"According to him, you helped kill the Basilisk and destroy the diary."

"My contribution to both of those things was very small," argued Lena, standing up. "Honestly, there's absolutely no need to thank me."

"But–"

Lena didn't let him finish. "And I would really prefer it if you didn't," she said firmly.

Weasley regarded her with a strange look, but nodded. "Then I suppose I should begin my patrol." He turned to leave, only to look back at Lena. "Don't forget," he reminded her, his officious manner returned, "You're scheduled to patrol from–"

"Four until five, I know."

Weasley nodded. "Right. Well then..." He turned back around and strode out of the compartment, leaving Lena alone, lost in thought.

At the end of the previous school year, Lena had been so preoccupied with everything that had gone down in the Chamber, and the realisation that Harry was in fact an unintentional Horcrux, that she hadn't really noticed what the rest of the Hogwarts students were saying about her part in the whole situation. She knew Harry had told Hermione and all the Weasley children that Riddle had taken her into the Chamber in the hope that she would help him, like her parents had helped his older self, but that she refused and instead helped save Ginny's life. Lena had told Maggie and Rolf much the same thing, and she assumed that it was the same story Dumbledore and McGonagall had told the rest of the staff. But as for everyone else...

She was sure that her Slytherin classmates in their DADA class would have wanted to ask her all about it, but as exams had been cancelled, she hadn't conducted any more of the extra lessons. And it wasn't like there was anyone else bold enough to approach her. She was fairly certain it was common knowledge that she had been in the Chamber that night, but there was likely still speculation about why. And now that she was Head Girl, that speculation was probably only going to intensify.

Glancing at her wristwatch, she decided it was time to go join Maggie and Rolf – and Mortimer, who she'd left with them – in their compartment. It was the first one in the final carriage, so she was going to have to pass a lot of curious students on her way.

Preparing herself for the stares, she exited Compartment A, only to find someone waiting for her: Farley.

"Lestrange," said the girl. "I just wanted to congratulate you."

Lena blinked, surprised. "Erm, thank you," she said awkwardly. She hesitated, then added, "That's really nice of you. Considering, um–"

"That as the female Prefect for our Year, you've sort of taken my place?" interrupted Farley, smiling. "Well, there was no way I was going to be Head Girl, so I'd rather it be you than someone from another house."

"Oh. Erm, well, then I'm glad you're okay with it."

"Yeah."

When Farley didn't move, instead continuing to stare at her, Lena asked, politely as she could, "And was there something else you wanted to say, or..." She gestured down the carriage corridor.

Farley blinked a couple of times, then – to Lena's discomfort – giggled nervously. "Oh right, yeah." She ran a hand through her short brown hair, and grinned. "Good thing Weasley isn't here, or he'd tell us off for loitering in the corridor."

Lena smiled weakly. "Good thing, yeah." Patiently, she waited for Farley to speak, but the girl just continued to grin. After five or six seconds of silence, Lena prompted her. "You wanted to say something."

"Oh!" Farley blushed, and looked down embarrassed. "Sorry." She tugged the bottom of her shirt nervously. "I just – well, _we_ were just wondering–"

"Who's we?"

"Fakhir and me. We were wondering if you were planning on continuing your Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons this year."

"Well, I think that depends entirely on the competency of the new professor. "

Farley's face fell, disappointed. "So it's not a definite thing, then?"

Lena stared at her, puzzled. "No, it's– do you mind if we talk while I walk back to my compartment?" She could already see some students were standing at their compartment doors, watching her in what they probably thought was a surreptitious manner.

"Oh, sure!" was Farley's immediately reply.

"I thought the only reason you guys came to me for help last year was because Lockhart was totally inept," said Lena as they set off. "I assumed you'd all only want to continue if the new teacher is equally lacking in ability."

"Yes, well, that's quite likely, isn't it?" Farley pointed out. "I mean, I can hardly imagine that Dumbledore was spoiled for choice of candidates, given that, you know, the position's cursed."

Lena shrugged, opening the door to the next carriage. "I suppose that's not a totally unfair presumption to make," she conceded, standing back to allow Farley to go first.

Farley blushed again, muttered, "Thank you," and passed through. Lena shook her head in bemusement, following her.

"But," continued Lena, "I wasn't going to make any plans without, erm, _experiencing_ one of the new professor's classes first."

"Okay, but would you still consider holding lessons even if the teacher's fine?"

"What would be the point of that?"

"Because you're interesting," replied Farley immediately, then clapped a hand over her mouth, looking mortified.

Lena raised an eyebrow. "Interesting?"

Farley gulped nervously. "I mean, the way you talk is interesting. The way you teach." She bit her lip. "I think I learnt more from you last year than I did in the five years prior to that put together. And even if this teacher actually knows their stuff, they still probably don't know as much as _you_."

Now Lena was worried that _she_ was going to blush. "Well, thank you," she said, feeling awkward, but flattered. "Look, if the teacher's bad, I'll continue the lessons. But if not... well, being Head Girl this year, I'm probably going to have less spare time, so..."

"It's fine, I get it," said Farley hastily. "Totally. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be pushy."

"Oh, no, you weren't–"

"This is my compartment," she said, coming to a stop at one of the doors. "I don't have patrol duty with you, so I guess I'll see you at the feast tonight." She reached for handle.

"Wait," Lena blurted out, not entirely sure of what she was going to say. "Even if we don't continue proper lessons, that doesn't mean you can't ask me for help."

Farley froze, then turned back to Lena, a perplexed expression on her face. "Help?" she asked, as if unfamiliar with the word.

 _'Yeah,_ ' said a little voice in her head, ' _what exactly do you mean by help? I don't think you've thought this through._ "

But Lena's mouth didn't appear to be listening to the rest of her head. "With schoolwork," she said. "If there's something you don't get in class, you can always ask me about it. Or even if you just want to know more about a particular topic, I'd be happy to help."

Farley stared at Lena for a few seconds, her face blank. Then she smiled shyly. "Thanks. I might take you up on that."

Lena nodded, although the internal voice was screaming at her to stop it. "Yeah. Okay."

"Okay." Farley continued to gaze at her with a smile.

Adjusting her cardigan in discomfort, Lena took a few steps backwards. "Right, well, I've..." she indicated behind her.

"Right," said Farley, reaching for the handle again but, with her eyes still on Lena, missing it. "See you later then."

Inclining her head, Lena replied, "Later, then." Then she quickly turned around, only to walk straight into the carriage door. "Ow."

Behind her, she heard a muffled giggle. She looked back around, only to see Farley's compartment door closing behind her.

Opening the carriage door, Lena shook her head, disgusted. _'Idiot,'_ she mentally berated herself, entering the final carriage. ' _What the hell was_ that _? You acted like a... like a...'_

She opened the first door to her right, where Maggie, Newt and Mortimer were waiting for her. As she greeted them, she couldn't stop thinking: acted like a what?

It took a while, but the answer finally came to her.

For a couple of minutes, she'd acted like an ordinary teenage girl.

* * *

It was about twenty minutes before they were supposed to arrive at Hogsmeade Station that the train began to slow. Straightening up in her seat, Lena looked at her watch, confused. There was no way they'd arrived this early.

Rolf pressed his face up against the window, staring out into the dark night, but the rain hammering against the glass was obscuring the view even further. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I don't know," replied Lena, frowning. She couldn't recall the Hogwarts Express ever stopping before reaching its destination any other year. "Something wrong with the track, maybe?"

Maggie shrugged. "I guess there's a first time for everything," she said, sounding unconvinced.

Lena put Mortimer, who was sitting on her shoulder, on the seat next to her, and stood up, just as the train came to a halt. A second later, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

Maggie's voice cut through the blackness. "Okay, what the _fuck_ is going on?"

Holding her hand out, Lena wordlessly conjured a ball of blue flames, and their compartment was once again lit.

"I'm going to find out what's happening," she told Maggie and Rolf.

"And leave us without light?" complained Rolf.

Lena gave him a withering look. "You're a wizard, Rolf," she snapped. "Use your own fucking magic."

Leaving Rolf looking sheepish, she opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, and looked around. There were several students stumbling about, some whispering to each other in panicked voices, others groping around to find handles to the compartment doors. As the blue flames illuminated the space, they all turned to look at its source.

About to tell them all to return to their compartments while she found out what was going on, the carriage door leading outside was slammed open. The sound of heavy rain filled the carriage, and it became much colder.

Then a black-hooded figure slowly glided onto the train, coming to a stop about five feet away from Lena. Then it breathed in.

Lena had never seen one before, but she instantly knew what it was. She took a step back. "Get into the compartments," she ordered the students, who had frozen in horror. " _Now,_ " she urged them, her voice harsh and low.

The children didn't need to be told twice. They threw open the doors and raced inside, slamming the doors shut behind them.

"Lena?" She heard Maggie's voice from their compartment. "Are you–"

"Don't come out," hissed Lena. "Do you hear me? Shut the door, and _stay in the compartment_."

There was a pause, then the sound of their compartment door slowly shutting.

Lena had known there were going to be Dementors outside Hogwarts this year, due to the perceived threat of Sirius Black; Dumbledore had sent a letter to the Head Boy and Girl informing them of the arrangement. But there hadn't been any mention of them searching the train.

Without warning, the Dementor began to glide towards Lena, closing the short distance between them. The handful of flames went out, and Lena clenched her now empty fists, as the Dementor took another breath. And Lena felt–

Nothing. Her eyes widened slightly at the realisation. She knew very well what the effects of a Dementor were supposed to be, and none of them were happening to her. And although she could no longer see the Dementor's hood – or in any case, what was under it – she sensed that it was staring at her too. Surprised, if a Dementor could be such a thing.

There was a noise – like a rustle of a cloak – and the Dementor was now merely inches away from her. Lena held her breath, but also her ground. She grasped her wand in her robe pocket.

' _Come on,_ ' she told herself, ' _you know the words. You know what you need to think of. Just cast the damn spell.'_

True, she knew the incantation. She knew it required focusing on a happy memory. But Lena also knew, try as she might, that she could not cast the Patronus Charm. So she relaxed her grip on the wand, and stepped to the side of the corridor, in front of the door to her compartment.

As the Dementor passed her, she was sure it was looking at her. But with what? Derision? Wariness? Curiosity? Lena's hand found the door handle. Sliding it open, she stepped inside, catching a last glance of the Dementor, which was slowly opening another compartment's door.

A soft light was being emitted from the tip of Rolf's wand. He was sitting next to a nauseated-looking Maggie, and looked up concernedly at Lena as she shut the door. Mortimer was sitting on his shoulder, also worried.

"What is it?" whispered Rolf.

"A Dementor," answered Lena, sitting on Maggie's other side. Her friend was clutching her stomach and shivering. Lena guessed that the effects of the Dementor had transcended the barrier of a mere door to reach Maggie – someone who'd undoubtedly suffered enough in her childhood to be more adversely affected than most. "I think it's searching the train for Sirius Black." She decided that the light from Rolf's wand wasn't enough, and reignited the handful of blue flames.

Rolf frowned, confused. "Why? Did they get a tip-off that Black was going to try to enter Hogwarts this way?"

Lena snorted. "Of course not. They're just opportunistic bastards who saw this as a chance for a free meal." Gently, she placed a hand on the still-shuddering Maggie. "I know this feels awful now," she murmured to her, "but it'll be gone soon, and you'll feel better again."

Maggie looked at her, and Lena could see the pain and horror, usually so well-concealed, in her brown eyes. "I thought I was back there," she whispered. "When I was little. Before I knew I was a witch..." She shuddered, and clenched her teeth, unwilling to say anymore.

Lena could only nod in response – what else could she say to provide comfort? She noticed that Rolf was eying her oddly. "What?" she asked him

Rolf bit his lip, hesitating. After a few moments, he said, "Are _you_ okay? The Dementor must have gotten pretty close to you–"

"I'm fine," said Lena, a little too quickly.

Rolf raised his eyebrows, incredulous, but didn't inquire any further, switching his focus back to their shivering friend.

Lena watched Maggie helplessly. Physical wounds she could treat reasonably well, but the affects of a Dementor... there wasn't much one could do without a Patronus.

She stood up. "I'm going to see where it's up to," she told Rolf and Maggie. "It must have nearly finished searching this carriage by now."

Blues flames still in her hand, she opened the door just enough to peer around it. It took a few seconds to make out the outline of the hooded figure in the dark corridor. It was at the end of the carriage, hovering in the doorway of the final compartment.

And then, to Lena's astonishment, the Dementor... sort of... _jumped back,_ as a sliver light shot out of the compartment. With considerable speed, the Dementor turned and glided back down the corridor, chased by the indistinct silvery figure. It exited the carriage, the door sliding shut with a _bang_ behind it.

Lena stared at the Patronus, which had come to a stop a couple of feet from where she was standing. It was incorporeal, but somewhere within it was the suggestion of a face. She squinted; there was something almost... _canine_ about it.

Then the carriage was suddenly, blindingly illuminated as the lanterns were reignited, and the Patronus disappeared with a _pop_. A couple of seconds of later, Lena stumbled to the side as the Hogwarts Express jerked forward, beginning the final leg of its journey.

She looked back around at her friends. Rolf looked relieved, and Maggie was beginning to look slightly less ill.

"It's gone?" asked Rolf.

Lena looked back at the corridor. "Yeah," she replied distractedly, running a hand through her hair. Who could have cast the Patronus? The Hogwarts curriculum didn't have students learning the Patronus Charm until the second trimester of Seventh Year.

"What's wrong?" asked Maggie, watching Lena's face closely. "You look confused."

"Yeah," added Rolf, "and if _you're_ confused, that can't be good for the rest of us."

Lena chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "Nothing's wrong," she assured them. "Just... it left because somebody cast a Patronus."

Maggie and Rolf shared a surprised look. "That's pretty advanced magic," said Rolf, scratching his head.

"Exactly." Lena made a decision. "I'm going to go find out who it was."

"How will you know?" Maggie queried.

"Because it came from the last compartment on this carriage," answered Lena, sliding the door fully open. "I'll be back in a minute."

She was stopped halfway down the corridor, however, when another compartment door was wrenched open by what Lena assumed to be a First Year, due to the lack of house colours on her robe and tie.

"Excuse me," said the small girl, looking up at Lena with large, fearful eyes. "My friend, she – she needs help. Could, could you–"

Lena gestured for the girl to step back. The doorway clear, she entered the compartment, and immediately identified the child in need of assistance.

There were four girls in the compartment – including the one who had asked for help, a blonde – and they all appeared to be First Years. One girl was sitting hunched over, shivering and sobbing so hard she seemed to be struggling to breathe. The other two girls were sitting either side of her, frantically trying to find out what was wrong.

"Give her some space," Lena sharply said to them. They took one look at Lena, and scooted over in their seats, leaving the crying girl about two feet of space on each side.

Lena knelt down in front of the girl. She was pale and clammy all over, and as she met Lena's gaze, she saw that her hazel eyes were red and swollen from her sobs. "What's your name?" she asked her.

"Erin," croaked the girl in between ragged breaths.

Lena nodded. "Okay, Erin, do you know what that creature was that came in here before?"

Erin shook head frantically, another round of sobs escaping her.

"She's Muggle-born," said the girl to Lena's right, a brunette.

"It was a Dementor, wasn't it?" said the girl to the left, whose black hair was corn-rowed and tied in a ponytail. Her voice was quiet and scared. "What was it doing on the train?"

"It was searching the train for an escaped prisoner," Lena explained, trying to figure out how to calm Erin down.

"Sirius Black?" asked the blonde. "The one who's been in the newspaper? But why–"

Lena cut her off. "I appreciate your desire to be well-informed," she said, patiently as she could. "But your questions aren't particularly helpful right now." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the blonde look down, abashed. Refocusing her attention on Erin, Lena said to her, "Now, Erin, I think what's making you upset now is that the Dementor made you remember something really bad that happened to you. Is that right?"

"Ye-e-es," Erin choked out. Snot dripped out of her nose.

Lena dug into her robe pocket, and found an empty lollypop wrapper from earlier in the day. She pulled both it and her wand out, and muttered a spell. There was an audible _ooh_ from one of the girls as the wrapper was Transfigured into a handkerchief.

Lena offered it to Erin. "Here."

The weeping girl took it with a shaking hand, wiping her nose and eyes. But the flood of tears continued.

"I-i-it was like it w-was hap-p-pening all over again," she cried, a whole shudder running through her body.

"What was?" asked the brunette.

"M-my d-d-dad," sobbed Erin. "He c-collasped, and then it was all my fault–" She started gasping for air.

Lena firmly clasped Erin's hands. "Okay, I need you to hold your breath, and count to ten."

Erin shook her head frantically. "I – _can't–"_

"Yes, you can," Lena told her sternly. "And I'm going to do it with you. Ready?" She took in a deep breath, and held it. A moment later, Erin copied her.

They locked eyes, and Lena started counting to ten. Still holding her hands, she could feel that Erin's whole body was still shaking.

Reaching ten, Lena nodded at Erin, and began to slowly blow out the air. Her face still wet with tears, Erin followed her lead.

"And we're going to do it one more time," said Lena, and the whole process was repeated, while the three other girls watched on anxiously.

Erin gradually stopped shivering, and her breathing became more regular. But Lena could still see, as she let go of her hands, that there was a haunted look in her eyes.

"Are you okay, Erin?" asked the brunette.

"No, she's not," said Lena, a little more harshly than she'd intended. She cleared her throat awkwardly, as the small girl gazed at her, upset. "But she'll start feeling better soon," she added in a gentler tone. As if to prove her point, the flow of Erin's tears came to a standstill. Lena leant back, preparing to stand up, when something shiny under the seat caught her eyes. It was a chocolate wrapper.

 _'Moron,'_ Lena scolded herself, having to resist the urge to smack herself in the face. How could she have forgotten the remedy to a Dementor encounter? She'd have to make sure that Maggie ate some.

"Do any of you have some chocolate left over?" she asked the girls.

The blonde nodded, pulling a bar out of her pocket. Lena held her hand out for it. The girl looked bewildered, but handed it over anyway. Lena tore off the wrapper.

"You need to eat this," she told Erin, who stared at the chocolate bar in confusion.

She shook her head. "I don't want it," she croaked, her voice hoarse from crying.

"That wasn't an offer," said Lena flatly. "Eat it."

Erin shook her head stubbornly. "No, I'll be sick if I–"

But Lena was done being nice. "Eat the damn chocolate," she hissed, fixing Erin with a death glare, "or I will _force it down your throat_."

The sudden menace in Lena's demeanour affected Erin instantaneously. She quickly snatched the chocolate from Lena, edged back in her chair, and took a sizeable bite.

The change in Erin was almost immediate. Lena could almost see the warmth spreading through her body. Swallowing the chocolate, she stared at the rest of the bar, than at Lena, perplexed.

"Wha–"

"Eat half of it," ordered Lena, standing up, "and split the rest of it between the three of you." She walked over to the door, very conscious of the four pairs of eyes intently following her. "I'm going to leave now, but I'll check up on you just before we get to the station, and when I do, that chocolate better be finished."

"But what was that _thing_?" asked Erin, a shadow of fear passing over her face. "The de-de–"

"Dementor." Lena pointed at the dark-haired girl, who shrunk back in her seat. "Can you explain it to her?" she asked her.

The girl nodded hastily. "Yes."

"Good." She looked back at Erin. "And if there's anything you still want to know, you can ask me when I get back. Now, eat that chocolate, or I'll–" she paused, not sure how to finish the threat. "Or I'll be very _cross_."

Apparently, a cross Lena was enough incentive, because the last thing she saw as she exited the compartment was Erin quickly taking another bite from the bar.

Continuing down the last half of the corridor, Lena shook her head, not sure if she was feeling amused or exasperated. Her first threat of the year – and it was in order to make a First Year girl eat _chocolate._

 _'So much for my terrifying reputation,'_ she thought ruefully.

A few metres away from the final compartment, Lena noticed that its door was still open. Reaching it, she turned to enter, only to find her way blocked by a man.

* * *

 _Five minutes earlier:_

Remus was pulled from his deep sleep by the sound of nervous and frightened voices. However, when he opened his eyes, he was greeted by only more darkness. He straightened in his seat. They seemed to still be on the Hogwarts Express, but it wasn't moving. Something was very obviously wrong.

"What are you doing?" a girl's voice was saying.

"I was looking for Ron–" another feminine voice replied.

"Come in and sit down–"

"Not here!" a boy's voice hastily interjected. "I'm here!"

"Ouch!"

Remus, now properly awake, finally spoke. "Quiet!"

The children in the carriage immediately obeyed. Remus held his hand out in front of him, and a couple of seconds later, a small cluster of flames appeared in it – one of the very few feats of wandless magic that Remus could perform. Now, he could just make out five faces in the carriage with him.

"Stay where you are," he told them, slowly getting to his feet. He needed to get to the train's driver – he didn't think there were any other staff members onboard – and see if he knew what was going on. But before Remus took another step, the door slowly slid open.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Remus' hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling.

A Dementor.

Remus froze. The last time he had seen one was just before the end of the War. Dumbledore, of course, had told him of the Ministry's decision to deploy a number of Azkaban's guards outside Hogwarts, but he hadn't been aware that any would be searching the train.

The Dementor drew a long, slow, rattling breath, and an intense cold filled the compartment. At once, memories flooded Remus' brain: hearing the news that James and Lily had been killed, the subsequent realisation that Sirius had betrayed them all, and not being able to find Peter in time to stop him going after the man they had loved as a brother...

Remus was dragged out of his stupor by the sight of one of the boys falling out of his seat and beginning to convulse on the floor.

A little voice inside Remus' head shouted, ' _You're supposed to be their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, do something!'_

He stepped over the boy, putting himself between him and the Dementor, and pulled out his wand. He cleared his throat. "None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks," he said to the Dementor, relieved that his voice didn't crack or shake . "Go."

But the Dementor didn't move, nor make any indication that it had understood Remus at all.

So Remus shut his eyes, and focused on a memory.

 _His mother, sitting in their garden, her back against a tree. A book lay open in her lap, from which she was reading aloud to his four year old self. Happy, untroubled, he listened to her, spellbound by the story, his mother smiling at her son's expression of wonder..._

He opened his eyes. " _Expecto Patronum_ ," he muttered. A silver light shot out of his wand, and this time, the Dementor turned round and glided away.

For a few moments, Remus just stood there, staring at where the Dementor had been. Then all the lights came back on, and he remembered the unconscious boy. He turned back around as the train began to move again, but once again found himself dumbstruck.

Lying on the compartment floor was James. Remus shook his head, blinking wildly.

Then one of the girls knelt down beside the boy. "Harry?" she called concernedly.

Remus could have smacked himself. ' _Of course it's Harry, you idiot,'_ he berated himself. Seeing the boy again after twelve years had been one of things he'd been most looking forward to since he'd accepted Dumbledore's offer. He just hadn't been prepared for how much he would resemble his father.

A redheaded boy was now also kneeling next to Harry, as the girl lightly slapped the still unconscious boy's face.

"Harry!" she repeated. "Harry! Are you all right?"

Just as Remus was about to intervene, Harry stirred, and mumbled, "W-what?" He opened his eyes – ' _Lily's eyes,'_ was Remus' immediate thought.

Harry pushed his glasses back on properly as he slowly sat up. He was then heaved back onto his seat by his friends.

"Are you okay?" asked the redheaded boy nervously.

"Yeah," said Harry, looking towards the door. "What happened? Where's that – that thing? Who screamed?"

Remus frowned as Harry's friend nervously replied, "No one screamed." He knew that Dementors affected children who had undergone traumatic experiences more adversely than others, making them relive those terrible moments. It was then Remus remembered the bar of chocolate he had left in his robe pocket as a precautionary measure if he had come across any Dementors on the way into Hogwarts. He quickly pulled it out and tore the wrapping off.

"But I heard screaming–"

The loud _snap_ sound of Remus breaking the chocolate into pieces caused all the other occupants of the compartment to look at him.

"Here," Remus said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. "Eat it. It'll help."

Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it. "What was that thing?" he asked Remus.

"A Dementor," said Remus, handing the rest of the chocolate out to the other four children. "One of the Dementors of Azkaban."

He crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket, as he tried not to squirm in discomfort as they all stared at him. He wasn't used to being the centre of attention – another thing, he realised, he would have to get used to as a teacher.

"Eat," he repeated. "It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me." He strolled past Harry, desperately hoping the students wouldn't see how unnerved he'd been by the last five minutes.

He turned into the corridor, only to take a hasty step back in order to avoid colliding with someone trying to enter the compartment.

* * *

"Excuse me," said the man.

He was taller than Lena by almost half a foot. There were several scars on his stubbled face, and his light brown hair was beginning to grey at the temple. Under his pale green eyes were dark shadows, and what she suspected were premature crow's feet. His robes were well-worn, and at this close distance, she could see there were several spots where the material had been torn and restitched.

All in all, it took Lena about seven seconds to identify the man as a werewolf.

"Lena Lestrange," she introduced herself, extending a hand. "Head Girl. I imagine you're the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

The man blinked a few times, then looked down at the offered hand. After a couple of seconds, he took it. "Yes," he confirmed, shaking it. "Professor Lupin."

It required some effort for Lena not to raise an eyebrow when he said his name. ' _Well, that's horribly ironic._ ' But out loud, she asked, "And that would have been your Patronus I saw earlier?"

"Er, yes–"

"Lena?" a voice from inside the compartment called out. Harry. "Is that you?"

The man looked back over his shoulder, and Lena took the opportunity to slip past him. Harry was sitting in between Ron and Hermione, a piece of chocolate in his hand. His face was paler than usual.

"How are you, Harry?" asked Lena.

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. He seemed to be thinking something over. "I fainted," he said at last. "When that – _Dementor_ – came in here. And I thought I heard someone scream before I passed out, but everyone's saying–" He broke off, a strange look on his face. He was looking behind Lena.

She turned around, and found herself wishing she could disappear into thin air. Sitting opposite Harry was Ginny. And sitting next to her was Neville Longbottom, who was staring at Lena like he wanted to vomit. Their eyes met for a second, then Neville tore his gaze away, and stared down at the floor resolutely. Lena swallowed uncomfortably, then turned back to Harry. "You heard a scream?"

Harry's eyes flicked between Lena and Neville, but he simply said, "Yeah, but apparently nobody did." He frowned. "So why did I hear it?"

"It was a memory," explained Lena. "That's what Dementors do: suck out the happiness, and leave you reliving your worst memories. So that scream was real – it just happened some time ago. And you should definitely eat that." She pointed at the chocolate.

The fact that Harry automatically took a bite of the chocolate was a testament to his trust in Lena and her knowledge.

"Feel a little better?"

Lena started, and glanced to her left. She hadn't realised that Professor Lupin was still standing in the doorway.

"Yeah, thanks," Harry replied to him. Everyone else seemed to take this as a cue that they could eat their chocolate too. Which reminded Lena that she should get back to Maggie and tell her to eat some – she was fairly sure Rolf had a couple of bars left over.

She checked her watch. "Well, we should be arriving at the station in ten minutes," she announced to the compartment. "And I need to check on some other people, so unless there's anything else you need..."

Harry waved his hand that wasn't holding chocolate. "It's fine," he assured her. "But talk to you tomorrow?"

Lena nodded, very aware that everyone else in the compartment was watching her and Harry's interaction closely. "I'll be in the library the hour before dinner," she told him.

"Okay." He flashed her a smile, which Lena returned.

Turning to the doorway and looking at Professor Lupin, she gestured out to the corridor. "Were you..."

He shook his head, stepping out of the way. "No, I'm staying in here."

"Right. Then I suppose I'll see you in class, Professor."

He inclined his head, but Lena was positive there was a wariness in his eyes as he watched her leave.

' _Not like that's anything new,_ ' she told herself as she walked back up the corridor. ' _Probably would be more concerning if he heard the name 'Lestrange' and decided to be nice to me._ '

But a werewolf professor... now, that certainly _was_ new.

* * *

 **Fun fact: The word 'compartment' appears approximately 42 times in this chapter. Also fact: I am very much hoping to never write it as many times in a chapter again.**

 **As usual, if there are any questions/concerns about the chapter, please ask, and I'll either answer it my AN (or a PM, if that's preferable), or provide assurance that it will be answered/addressed in an upcoming chapter.**

 **Reviews are super helpful (and encouraging) and would be very much appreciated :)**


	19. Changes

**Hello! Thank you to all the reviewers of the last chapter, it's lovely to think that even just one person is enjoying this story, and it's especially cool to know if you're speculating about what comes next. (There are a couple of specific replies in the AN at the end.)  
**

 **Also, it's pretty awesome that _To Be Human_ has passed 100 followers, so I just want to reiterate my huge appreciation for everyone who has followed this story :)  
**

 **This is a relatively shorter chapter, but the next one's going to be pretty long, so it kind of all balances out. But hopefully you enjoy what there is in Chapter 19 :)**

* * *

"Aldridge, Rebecca."

Lena watched with interest as the first student to be Sorted walked to the front of the Great Hall, where the Sorting Hat sat on a stool. It was one of the girls Lena had met on the Hogwarts Express, the brunette. It occurred to Lena that when she'd gone back to check on them just before they'd arrived at the station, she had forgotten to find out the names of Erin's three friends. Nor had she given them hers.

Professor Flitwick – as Professor McGonagall was absent from the Hall for some reason – placed the Hat on Rebecca Aldridge's head, the brim falling over her eyes. The Hall waited for the Hat's declaration with bated breath.

"RAVENCLAW!" roared the Hat. The table directly next to the Slytherins erupted into cheers and applause. For some strange reason, the houses always took great pride in being the first one called at a Sorting.

"She's one of the ones I was telling you about," Lena murmured to Maggie, who was sitting to her right. "Not the one who was hyperventilating, but one of her friends."

"Uh-huh," replied Maggie distractedly. "Bloody hell, the new Defense teacher's looking a bit rough." She squinted at the staff table. "Are those scars on his face? Because if so, that's not an entirely promising sign..."

Lena made a noncommittal noise. Internally, she was restraining herself from pointing out that the scars were an obvious indicator of his lycanthropy. Back when she'd first seen him on the train, it hadn't really occurred to her that the other students – having not spent the last seven summers in Knockturn Alley, the one place in Britain where one could be fairly certain of finding at least one werewolf at any time – wouldn't recognise what Professor Lupin was. It was only when she'd gone back to Maggie and Rolf, and told them she'd encountered the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, that she'd realised it probably wasn't a good idea to mention his... monthly situation. The chances were if he was teaching, his condition wasn't public knowledge.

Not that she didn't trust Maggie and Rolf to keep a secret. No, it was more that it was... well, just bad manners.

"Fitzroy, Tiffany."

Her attention was brought back to the Sorting as the blonde First Year, the one who'd originally asked her for help, confidently went up to the Hat. A few seconds after it was placed on her head, it cried, "SLYTHERIN!"

As Lena clapped for the new addition to her house, the girl, Tiffany, caught her eye. Then, before Lena quite realised what was happening, Tiffany was making a beeline for her and, reaching the table, plonked herself down directly opposite Lena.

"Hello again," said the small girl cheerfully.

This never-before-seen move drew the attention of the majority of Slytherin house, as well as a few nearby Ravenclaws. Maggie was staring at the girl, seemingly bewildered by the eleven-year-old's audacity.

The whole ridiculousness of the situation was threatening to make Lena laugh, but she suppressed the urge. Instead, she simply gave Tiffany a benign smile, and said, "Welcome to Slytherin. I don't think I introduced myself before – I'm Lena."

The fact that so many of the Slytherins were apparently flabbergasted by the sight of Lena Lestrange being nice to a child meant that there was a slight delay in the applause for Astoria Greengrass' Sorting into Slytherin. But when the young Greengrass chose _not_ to sit in close proximity to Lena, it appeared that some sense of normalcy had returned for the Slytherins, and they started paying attention to the rest of the Sorting again. However, Lena could see that over at the Hufflepuff table, Rolf was still smirking at her. Lena didn't need to be a Legilimens to know what he was thinking: _One day as Head Girl, and you're already adopting little kids._

In response, she gave him her best vampiric smile, making Rolf wipe the smirk off his face because nor did he need to be a Legilimens to read it: _Piss off, or I won't help you with homework for a month._

"Hughes, Erin."

With mild interest, Lena watched as the Muggle-born girl joined her friend in Ravenclaw. They were both seated not far away from Tiffany, and the girls were all exchanging grins and thumbs-up gestures.

Their fourth friend, 'Nyambura, Eve', was also Sorted into Slytherin.

"Hi," she said, a little more shy than Tiffany had been, as she sat next to her friend.

"Hey," replied Lena.

"Her name's Lena," Tiffany told Eve. "And this is–" She looked at Maggie.

"Maggie," she said, her expression utterly bemused.

"Hello," Eve greeted her, before looking back at Lena. "Erin wanted me to tell you that she's feeling much better now, and thank you again for helping her."

"Good to hear."

As the rest of the Sorting continued, Lena made a note of each of the First Years joining Slytherin. There were thirteen of them, mostly from well-known Wizarding families. They either sat together, or with their older siblings and cousins who were also in Slytherin – the sole exceptions being Tiffany and Eve. From what Lena could gather, they were both the first members of their families to be Sorted into the snake-pit.

After the last First Year was Sorted into Hufflepuff, Professor Flitwick picked up the Hat and the stool and carried them out through the teachers' entrance. At the same time, the main doors opened, and McGonagall, followed by Harry and Hermione, entered. Lena guessed that the Transfiguration teacher had found out about Harry fainting on the train, and had wanted to check he was all right. Why she'd needed to see Hermione, however, was beyond Lena. Before she could give any more thought to it, the Headmaster stood up to speak.

"Welcome!" said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast..."

He cleared his throat and continued. "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises – or even Invisibility Cloaks. It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the Prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl–" he made eye contact with Lena for a split second, "–to make sure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors."

"No pressure," muttered Maggie out of the corner of her mouth. "Any kid gets their soul sucked out, and it's on you."

Lena rolled her eyes. "Brilliant," she sarcastically mouthed to Maggie, as Dumbledore looked very seriously around the Hall.

"On a happier note," the headmaster continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. Firstly, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

* * *

Remus attempted a smile when Dumbledore introduced him to the students, hoping it concealed how uncomfortable he felt. He was feeling particularly self-conscious, now he was sat with the rest of the staff. None of their robes were threadbare or patched.

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause for him, although there was a slightly louder section at the Gryffindor table – Harry and his friends who'd shared his compartment.

"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued, as the lukewarm applause died away, "well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that this place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his game-keeping duties."

Remus clapped loudly, delighted for his former fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix. The applause coming from the Gryffindor table was particularly thunderous. He looked over at the huge man, sitting near the other end of the table from him. His face had gone ruby red and he was staring down at his hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard. As the applause finally died down, Remus could see Hagrid wiping his eyes on the tablecloth.

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," said Dumbledore. "Let the feast begin!

Throughout the Great Hall, the golden plates and goblets suddenly filled with food and drink. For a few seconds, Remus could only stare at the dishes and dishes of bread rolls, pies, roast vegetables, cuts of meat and much, much more. He'd forgotten the excessive amount the Hogwarts' house-elves prepared for every meal.

Back when he was a student, he would have filled his plate layers high, and finished it with room to spare in his stomach. But the years since then of having to carefully ration his food meant that now all he took was a bread roll, a thin slice of roast beef, and a small helping of peas and carrots. ' _That's enough for tonight,_ ' he told himself. _'Any more, and you'll make yourself sick._ '

"I think Poppy's going to be singing your praises for the next few days, Remus."

Startled, Remus looked up from his plate. It was Professor McGonagall – _Minerva,_ he had to remind himself to call her – who had spoken. She was sitting two seats over on his right, Professor Sprout – _Pomona_ – in between them.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry?"

"Potter said you gave him and the other students in their compartment chocolate," explained Minerva. "Poppy was very pleased to know that we have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that actually knows how to treat students who have run-ins with Dark creatures."

Pomona, who was tucking into a large piece of steak-and-kidney pie, snorted. "It's nice to know that we have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who's actually _had_ a run-in with a Dark creature _himself,_ considering the last one wrote about a dozen books about _other_ people's encounters, and passed them off as his _own_."

Remus frowned. "Yes, I don't imagine that the students, after a year with Lockhart as their teacher, are at the stage they're supposed to be." That reminded him of something. "Actually, Pro– Minerva," he corrected himself, "I was wondering – where are all the students' academic records kept?"

Two hours later found Remus sitting in his new office, all his luggage yet to be unpacked. Instead, twenty-three boxes of files were sitting on the floor, and one on his desk, its contents emptied out. They were the Defense Against the Dark Arts files for each student, containing a record of every mark they'd received on a piece of assessment, and at least one example of their work from every year – some essays, some exam papers. And for the new Defense teacher, it was terrifying to behold.

 _'Merlin's beard,'_ thought Remus despairingly, " _they know nothing. They've been taught nothing."_

He was currently looking through the Third Year Hufflepuffs' records. So far, the only assessment examples he could find from the previous year were quizzes that were entirely based upon Lockhart's books. There had been no end-of-year exams, so there weren't even final grades.

Putting the last file back in the box, Remus leant back in his chair and sighed. He'd been hoping to draw upon his own experience as a Hogwarts student to complete his lesson plans, but these students were so far behind. He would have to find a way to condense a lot of topics so the students would be actually be able to sit valid exams nine months from now.

He glanced over the rest of the Third Years' records – dwelling a little longer over Harry's – then moved on to the Fourth Years, but they were much the same story. As were the Fifth Years, and the Sixth Years...

It wasn't until he got to the final box, the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Seventh Years, that anything stood out. The Ravenclaw students, as per usual, appeared to be at a higher standard than their Gryffindor and Hufflepuff counterparts, even if it wasn't where they would have been during Remus' time at Hogwarts. But the Slytherins... well, their files were a _fascinating_ read.

There were nine of them. And up until the end of their Fifth Year, there was nothing particularly remarkable about eight of them, except for one that began to dramatically improve in her Fifth Year. Throughout Sixth Year, however...

Lockhart had given them very broad topics for their essays, and his marking of them only further proved how truly clueless he was in the subject. But reading the essays himself, Remus was genuinely stunned. It wasn't that they were all spectacularly good, but compared to their work from the previous years, the increase in quality was staggering.

For instance, a boy named Marcus Flint had gone from just barely passing his OWL to being on the verge of an E student at NEWT standard. And the only thing holding him back was poor spelling and grammar – certainly not the actual content of his essay.

As far as Remus could recall, barely any students ever managed to maintain their OWL mark as their average grade in their first year of NEWT study. And he was struggling to think of anyone who had ever _improved_. But now, he had been provided with eight examples of it, and all from the same house. All Remus could think was _how_?

His immediate thought, of course, was cheating; getting someone else to do their work for them. But each essay had its own unique voice. And although they hadn't sat any final exams, there were several quizzes Lockhart had set them, and the marks corresponded quite accurately to their assignment work.

Remus shook his head. Slytherins might have had a reputation for being sneaky, but a cheating scheme _that_ good was surely even beyond them. So that left...

He turned his gaze to the ninth file. The name on the front read _Lena Lestrange._

Remus would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't been taken aback when she'd introduced herself to him on the Hogwarts Express. Not just at hearing the name 'Lestrange', but that she was Head Girl as well. And then her interaction with Harry, that suggested they were... friends.

He frowned. Neville Longbottom certainly didn't share the camaraderie. Remus hadn't put two-and-two together until the train had arrived at the station, and Harry's friend – Hermione, he thought her name was – had said his name when speaking to him. It was only in the carriage on the way to Hogwarts that Remus remembered Frank and Alice's son's name was Neville.

By the look Harry had given Neville, Remus could tell that he was unaware of Lena and Neville's parents' intertwining fates. He winced: that must have been a horrible moment for Neville, when he'd found out the daughter of his parents' torturers was at his school. He wondered if the boy had even been aware she existed before he came to Hogwarts.

Remus himself had been aware of her existence; he just hadn't considered that she'd be at Hogwarts. Just the idea of a child of convicted Death Eaters being a student here hadn't crossed his mind.

It was strange, though, now he thought about it. It had in fact been on the Hogwarts Express that he'd first come to know about Bellatrix Lestrange's child. Eighteen years ago, to the very day...

 _Monday 1 September, 1975:_

 _Remus hesitated before sliding open the compartment door, mentally preparing himself for the ribbing from his friends._

 _They didn't disappoint._

 _"Uh-oh, boys," said Sirius in a mock-serious voice. He was lying on his back across one set of seats. "Better make sure we behave ourselves, a_ Prefect _has joined us."_

 _Opposite Sirius, Peter snickered. Next to him, James smirked, and added, "Yeah, wouldn't want him to put us in detention, would we?"_

 _"Piss off," replied Remus calmly, walking over to Sirius and whacking him on the shins. The shaggy-haired boy swung his legs off the seats and sat up._

 _James made a tutting noise. "Now, that's not very Prefectorial language."_

 _Sirius chuckled. "Yeah," he said to Remus as the werewolf took his seat next to him, "careful, or you'll have to put_ yourself _in detention."_

 _Remus shrugged. "Considering we've got OWLs at the end of the year, I might take that option every now and then if it means I'll have some time to study without you lot bothering me."_

 _"If by 'bothering' you mean 'encouraging you to actually have fun once in a while', that just shows all the more why you need us around," said Sirius, grinning roguishly._

 _"How was your meeting with the geek squad, anyway?" asked James, his expression disdainful._

 _"It was fine," said Remus flatly. Then a thought occurred to him, and he gave friend James a malicious smile. "I had an_ excellent _chat with Lily."_

 _James straightened up like a metal rod had been shoved down the back of his shirt. "Evans is Prefect?" he said, his voice almost half an octave higher than before._

 _Peter snorted. "Of course she would be. She's smart, she's responsible, she hardly ever gets into trouble, she's pretty, she's–"_

 _"I don't think physical attractiveness is actually a trait the teachers consider when selecting Prefects, Peter," interrupted Remus, trying not to laugh at the slight glare James was giving Peter for making even the smallest implication that someone other than James might fancy Lily Evans._

 _"Of course it's not," added Sirius, "otherwise I'd be the Prefect, not Remus."_

 _Remus rolled his eyes. "Humility, on the other hand..." he muttered._

 _"So what did you talk to Evans about?" demanded James, his eyes narrowed at Remus._

 _Remus folded his arms. "None of your business."_

 _"What?" said – or rather, screeched – James. "You can't–"_

 _"Relax, mate," cut in Sirius. "It's not like he asked her out." He glanced at Remus out of the corner of his eye and smirked. "Although that would be hilarious if you did..."_

 _"I didn't, but thanks for giving me the idea."_

 _"No problem, mate, that's what a good wingman like me is for."_

 _James sunk back in seat with a scowl. "I hate you both."_

 _Peter cleared his throat. "Well, if we've finished discussing Remus' dating life–" James made an indistinct grunting noise, "– then maybe Sirius can get back to telling us his news."_

 _Remus raised an eyebrow at Sirius, who's face lost its joviality. "You have news?"_

 _"He was about to tell us before you came back in," explained Peter._

 _Taking in his friend's less-than-happy expression, Remus had a hunch of what topic the news was related to. "I'm guessing it's family stuff?"_

 _Across from them, James dropped his sourness and adopted a more concerned look, watching his best friend intently._

 _Sirius nodded. "Yeah, family stuff." He said the word 'family' as if it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. "There was a whole gathering for Regulus' birthday. Everyone was there." He grimaced. "Even dear cousin Bella and her delightful husband."_

 _Remus had never met or even seen Bellatrix Lestrange, but from the little that Sirius had told his friends, combined with the public perception of the Black and Lestrange families, he got the impression that she was... well,_ awful. _Truly awful._

 _"Anyway," continued Sirius, "while everyone was sitting down for dinner, the conversation turned, like it usually does, to You-Know-Who. And Bellatrix – well, just short of coming right out and saying 'I'm a Death Eater'–"_

 _"But she's definitely one of them," James cut in, nodding. "And her husband, what's-his-name–"_

 _"Rodolphus," said Sirius. "And his brother too."_

 _"Isn't just admitting that you're one enough grounds to be arrested now?" asked Peter._

 _"Yeah, but it's not like anyone else in my family's going to turn them in," Sirius pointed out. "Instead, we_ congratulate _them." The anger in his voice was palpable._

 _"Well, it's pretty likely the Ministry already suspects them," reasoned Remus. "It's not like they've ever hidden their anti-Muggle sentiments."_

 _"Right," agreed James. "And from everything you've told us, she's arrogant and fanatical enough that she'll probably slip up soon, and then bam," he pounded a fist against his hand, "it'll be off to Azkaban."_

 _But Sirius shook his head. "She's evil, but she's not stupid. Unless the Ministry falls, she's not going to announce her allegiance to the world." He sighed in frustration, then slumped back. "That's not all, though." He made a face. "She's_ pregnant _."_

 _James let out a whistle. "A baby Bellatrix? Merlin."_

 _"Poor kid," murmured Remus._

 _Peter gave Remus a confused look."Why? I mean, if it's their baby, it's going to be just like them."_

 _"Like I am?" asked Sirius quietly._

 _Remus gave Sirius a sidelong glance. He'd suspected that was what was bothering his friend so much about the news._

 _Peter, meanwhile, was looking abashed. "That not what I–"_

 _Sirius waved his hand impatiently. "I know, mate. And you're probably right – chances are that their kid's going to grow up to be as awful as them." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But–"_

 _"But if you can be that different from your parents, then that shows there's a possibility their baby could be too," finished James. "Even if it's a tiny possibility."_

 _Sirius nodded, his face still uncharacteristically grave. "And growing up with my parents has been..." He hesitated. "Well, it's been bad enough. But Bellatrix is worse."_

Remus screwed his eyes shut, and rubbed his temples angrily. It wasn't a good idea to dwell on such memories. Trying to reconcile the Sirius Black he remembered with the traitor and mass murderer he had proved to be was a painful – and pointless – exercise.

' _Going to be a little difficult to avoid this year, isn't it?'_ he pointed out to himself. ' _Now that you're back at Hogwarts, he's escaped from Azkaban, and James and Lily's son is one of your students.'_ The file open on his desk drew his gaze once again. _'And now her as well...'_

He was fairly certain he'd come up against Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange during the war, but they'd been wearing their Death Eater masks. It wasn't until he had seen their photos in the _Daily Prophet_ following their arrest that he'd first ever properly seen Bellatrix's face. And now having met her seventeen-year-old daughter, a certain resemblance was undeniable. One could practically see the blood of the Black family running through her veins: the black hair, the prominent cheekbones, that certain air of confidence they all just exuded.

And she was brilliant. That much was evident from her schoolwork. Her classmates were good, but she was on another level. Her essays were at least at a _professionally_ academic standard, and as far as he could see, there was only one occasion on which she hadn't received one hundred percent (or more) on an exam (she'd gotten one question wrong on a Second Year test). He had always considered Sirius, James and Lily to be three of the most naturally gifted wizards and witches he'd ever known, but none of them could have discussed the relationship between jinxes and their corresponding counter-jinxes as eloquently as Lena Lestrange had as a – he checked the date on the paper he was reading – _First Year_. It was clear from all her other work her knowledge of magical theory extended far past anything that was taught at Hogwarts. And according to the notes from her previous teachers on the practical sections of her exams, every spell she'd been asked to perform had been "executed to perfection".

In any case, her exceptional ability did present one possible solution for her housemates' dramatic improvement in the subject – she had started helping them the previous school year.

' _But why only last year?'_ thought Remus. _'What changed?'_

Lockhart. Remus scratched his chin thoughtfully. Was it possible that last year's Sixth Year Slytherins had become so fed up with their teacher's ineptness that they had turned to their smartest classmate for help?

It seemed so unlikely, a move so uncharacteristic for Slytherin students – banding together to help each other out.

' _Or maybe I'm just prejudiced,'_ Remus admitted to himself. _'Still too much of a Gryffindor._ '

He checked his teaching timetable – Minerva had handed them out to all the teachers during their brief staff meeting following the feast. He scanned it for his first lesson with the Seventh Year Ravenclaw/Slytherin class. _Thursday, 2pm - 3pm._ His third class of tomorrow, straight after lunch.

He glanced at the clock on his office wall – four-minutes-past midnight. He checked the timetable again. His first class wasn't until ten o'clock, so combined with the fact that he'd had a good amount of sleep on the train today, he didn't mind working for another couple of hours.

After reading all the Seventh Years' academic records, it was clear that he needed to start by giving them a test, to gage where exactly they all were at the moment. So now he just needed to compile one.

Closing Lena Lestrange's file and putting it back in the box, Remus wondered if she was as good at all her other subjects, or if Defense Against the Dark Arts was a speciality. It was definitely something worth raising with the other teachers, particularly if it wasn't just his subject that had seen an improvement in her classmates.

He put the box on the floor, then stretched out his arms until he heard a cracking noise from both. He had his work cut out for him tonight. As he started searching for parchment, he felt the nervous anticipation of properly meeting his students the next day. And one student in particular.

As it so happened, that particular student was still awake. She was standing in her dormitory bathroom, having just got out of the shower. But instead of putting on her pyjamas, she was standing, naked and still dripping wet, in front of the mirror, staring at her chest.

More specifically, she was staring at the black mark over her heart, the mark left by her connection to Hecate's Orb.

Because there was absolutely no doubt about it.

The mark had grown.

* * *

 **I have to admit, I enjoy writing a cliffhanger ending :)**

 **I know some people felt that not too much happened in the previous chapter, and this one probably didn't do too much to remedy that. Just bear in mind that up until these last couple of chapters, there's only been one principal character of this story, but now there's two. And although unlike Lena, Remus' character is already reasonably established in the books, I still have to do a bit to ingratiate him into _this_ story (more so in this chapter than the last). It might take me a little while to properly balance them, so please bear with me! **

**In saying all that, I do rarely write throwaway scenes/moments. So even if they don't seem particularly relevant at first, they usually will be setting up something that comes later. Nevertheless, there's a lot more happening in the next chapter, and probably even more in the one following that :)**

 **Just a couple of responses to specific reviews:**

 **Vballnikig: Thanks for pointing out the Rolf/Newt mix-up, it's something I do constantly while writing, but I usually manage to fix it up during my editing. I guess one was bound to slip through :)**

 **Justmeesh33: 'Remus Lupin' is rather on the nose as names go, isn't it? I doubt I'm the first fanfic writer to comment on it, but if it's rare, that's probably a good thing. A lot of _Harry Potter_ hinges on suspension of disbelief, and it's best not to go poking too many holes in it. Just trying to figure out some of the logistics concerning Hogwarts drives me crazy. But on another note, I'm really enjoying reading your reviews - you're definitely picking up on some interesting stuff ;)**

 **As always, reviews are enormously appreciated, and I'm more than happy to give specific replies, if it's so desired.**

 ** **That's all from me for now.** Cheers :)**


	20. Blood and Soul

**Hello! Here is Chapter 20 :) Thank you to rebelforcauses, Justmeesh33 and The Wandering Mage Rei for their lovely reviews.  
**

 **So if there's anything people don't understand in this chapter, I sincerely apologise. There are some fairly abstract concepts being talked about in this one, and it's hard to know how it reads without knowing the things I know as the author. Please let me know if stuff's not making sense, and I'll do my best to clarify it.**

 **I'll stop prattling on now, and just let you read the damn chapter :)**

* * *

 _Thursday 2 September, 1993:_

"But _how_? Nothing happened – I didn't _do_ anything. And I didn't _feel_ anything. So why would it grow?"

Lena was leaning against Dumbledore's desk in his office, the top half of her shirt unbuttoned in order to show the headmaster the enlarged mark. After discovering its growth about six hours previously, she had spent the rest of the night unable to sleep, her mind desperately trying to find reasons for why, after half a dozen years of no change, it had happened. Sure, her veins had started to turn black when she'd had her meltdown in the Chamber several months ago, but everything had immediately reverted back to normal afterwards. And that was her _own_ magic that had gone completely haywire. The Orb's magic had just been taken along for the ride.

But this time, there hadn't been any... _incident._ She hadn't used, intentionally or unintentionally, the small amount of the Orb's power that still resided in her – she hadn't even been sure she still could since she'd encompassed it with her own magic. There was no other reason she could think of for the mark to expand. So as soon as the morning reached what she considered to be an appropriate hour, she had gone to see the only person at Hogwarts who might possibly help her find some answers.

Dumbledore, who had been inspecting the black blotch – which was almost twice the size than it had been for the last six years – took a step back from Lena and walked around to the other side of the desk and sat down, his expression serious.

"When the Dementors searched the train last night, did you interact with any of them?" he asked.

Lena frowned, buttoning her shirt up. "I don't know about _interact_ ," she said, "but one did come very close to me." She took a seat, looking at Dumbledore curiously. "You think a Dementor caused," she gestured to her chest, "this?"

Dumbledore interlocked his fingers, and rested his chin on his clasped hands. "What happened when you were in close proximity with the Dementor?"

"Nothing," replied Lena, shrugging. "Nothing happened."

Her response made the old wizard raise a white eyebrow. "Nothing? Do you mean nothing out of the ordinary, or that the Dementor's presence had no effect on you whatsoever?"

Lena bit her lip. "I mean I didn't feel anything," she said. "I thought it was weird at the time, but thinking about it later, I supposed it was because, you know," she looked down at her lap, fiddling with the hem of her skirt, "I'm just used to feeling... down," she finished lamely. She looked back up at Dumbledore. "But I take it you disagree with that."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I have a theory. Not one that I would usually consider to have enough definitive evidence behind it, but a possible explanation, nonetheless."

"I'm all ears."

"Very well." He leant forward. "First, I must ask you: what do you know of the history of Dementors?"

"That they originate from Azkaban," answered Lena. "That their creation was most likely due to the wizard Ekrizdis, and his experimentation in the Dark Arts."

Any witch or wizard with at least a passing interesting in the Dark Arts knew of Ekrizdis, the first resident – perhaps even creator – of Azkaban. Knew 'of', because there wasn't much more than a name to learn – just that the wizard had resided in Azkaban during the fifteenth century, where he had built a fortress, lured muggle sailors to the island, and used his victims in his experiments in Dark magic. Azkaban itself had only been discovered by the rest of Wizarding society after Ekrizdis' death, when the concealment charms he'd put around it had been broken. It was on this first venture to Azkaban by the British Ministry of Magic that the existence of Dementors was discovered.

The majority of Ekrizdis' records of his research into the Dark Arts had either been destroyed by the time Ministry officials came across them, or they were simply illegible, written in some unknown but vaguely Coptic-looking script. Five centuries later, still very little of it had been successfully translated. However, it only took the Ministry about two hundred years to find a use for the Dementors: guards for what would be an _unescapable_ prison.

Well, unescapable until a month ago.

"And there is very little more that anyone can be certain about," said Dumbledore. "Dementors, after all, are not exactly the sort of beings that making willing research subjects. Thus, one can only make an educated guess as to how precisely they came to exist."

He paused for a few seconds, seemingly gathering his thoughts. Lena leant back in her chair, and patiently waited for the headmaster to continue.

At last, he said, "After our conversation before the holidays concerning your history with Hecate's Orb, I decided that it would be wise to research a little further into the object, as a precautionary measure." He looked intently into Lena's eyes. "From what you had told me–"

"You were worried that there was a possibility that I could lose control again," interrupted Lena, "and that I might do the same thing I did to Travers to someone else. I understand."

"That was certainly a factor," replied Dumbledore after a momentary hesitation. "But also because I was concerned about your prolonged exposure to the Orb's magic, and what risk to your health it might be causing."

Lena blinked. "Oh."

"I, of course, had come across the Orb in my readings as a much younger wizard," continued Dumbledore. "And I confess it was an item of great intrigue to me. But experience taught me that it would be... unwise, to allow myself to nurture and indulge my fascination with such a thing. There were many other subjects to which to devote myself, in research and experimentation. And so by the time you told me your story, it had been many years since I had even thought about it."

Outwardly, Lena maintained a look of polite interest, but inside her had sprung up an intense curiosity. 'Experience' had taught him – just in what particular branches of the magical arts had the young Dumbledore dabbled? She knew now wasn't the time to inquire further, but it was taking some restraint not to interrupt him and ask.

"Thus, I have spent these past three months reading through what available material there is regarding the Orb," Dumbledore was saying. "Particularly, I wanted to know if there were any recorded cases similar to your own – someone who had been accepted by the Orb, only to have it removed from their possession but be left with some remnant of its power in their body."

"And I assume," said Lena, "that you would have found the same answer I did when I looked for one six years ago: that every single person who's attempted to Master the Orb possessed it until they overreached themselves, and consequentially were destroyed by it." She smiled wryly. "Anybody interested in it knows the warning – the moment you touch the Orb, you begin the countdown to your own demise." Subconsciously, she touched her chest. "Some just take a little longer than others."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Yet when you opened the case and first saw the Orb, you still picked it up."

Lena laughed softly. "It takes a special kind of – well, I would have called it self-belief when I was eleven, but maybe it's more like delusion." She ran a hand through her hair. "The only sort of people who seek out Hecate's Orb are the people who don't think there's anyone else like them."

It took a few seconds for Lena to realise she was staring blankly at the wall behind Dumbledore, who was watching her with an odd expression. She shook her head slightly, focusing back on the reason she was there. "So was there anything else you found in your research?"

Dumbledore resumed his more business-like tone. "Although there was little to be gained from my initial line of inquiry," he said, "the dates outlining when each previous wizard or witch had possessed the Orb caught my attention. Naturally, some – especially the earlier ones – are more of a rough approximation, but for at least the last two thousand years, there is an adequate timeline with which to track the history of the Orb. There is, however, a long period where there is no information available concerning its whereabouts: from the early thirteenth century to the late fifteenth. In fact, the first time it appears in any records again is one year after Ministry officials first set foot on Azkaban."

His implication made Lena sit up straight. "You think it was with Ekrizdis during that time?"

"I believe that it would be a logical explanation for both why no one else knew where the Orb was, and why Dark magic was so deeply entrenched into Azkaban even after Ekrizdis' death," answered Dumbledore. "Albeit an explanation not backed by definitive proof."

"So you think the reason that I remained unaffected by the Dementor was because the same residue, or whatever you want to call it, from the Orb that's inside me is also in the Dementors," mused Lena, twisting a loose lock of hair around her fingers. "Because they originate from a place steeped in that same magic."

"Almost, but not quite," said Dumbledore. "Yes, I suspect that the shared characteristic of the Orb's magic is why you did not feel the usual effects of a Dementor. However, I would suggest the Dementors' relationship with the Orb is not simply a consequence of their environment, but rather more... _direct_."

It took Lena a few moments to properly comprehend what Dumbledore was saying. "Dementors are a creation of the Orb," she murmured, more to herself than the headmaster.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Whether they were intentionally created by Ekrizdis or not, who can know? But yes, that is my suspicion." He pointed at her chest with a long, gnarled finger. "Which is how I came to my theory about this sudden growth of your mark."

"Which is?"

"When the Dementor you encountered yesterday attempted to feed off your soul, it triggered that – what did you call it before... yes, residue. This residue spread through your soul–"

"Hang on," Lena cut in, holding up her hand. "My soul? That doesn't make any sense, the Orb's residue is physical, not..." she searched for the right word, " _spiritual_. It's in my blood, my body."

"It is in both your blood _and_ your soul," responded Dumbledore firmly. "A wizard or witch's magic is connected to both."

"I don't–"

Dumbledore raised a hand, stopping Lena. "To properly and thoroughly explain the exact connection between a body and a soul would take a far greater length of time than that which is available to us this morning," he said with a rueful smile. "Even, if you will permit me a moment of immodesty, for two people as clever as us. It is, perhaps, a stimulating conversation for another time. But for the present, will you accept my word as something of an expert in matters of a magical nature that pertain to the soul?"

Lena pursed her lips, but bowed her head. "Of course," she said politely. "Please continue."

"Your bond with the Orb left ingrained into your soul Dark magic, that makes it... inedible for Dementors," explained Dumbledore. "So when approached by the Dementor, that Dark magic spread through both your soul _and_ your body. The mark's growth was the visible physical manifestation of that."

Lena furrowed her brow. "So the Dementor made it grow just by getting close to me?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "The Dementor didn't force the growth. It was your own magic's reaction to the threat," he clarified. "You see, when you combined the Orb's magic with your own six years ago, you managed to do so because yours was the dominant power, not the Orb's. And it remained dormant in the following years because there was no reason for your own magic to allow the Orb's to override it. But yesterday, when in close proximity with the Dementor, your magic allowed the Orb's to take precedence in order to protect you. "

That made more sense. "And because it was an internal use of it rather than external like previous occasions, I didn't notice it happening," said Lena thoughtfully, tapping the arms of the chair.

"Exactly," confirmed Dumbledore. But he was frowning.

Lena crossed her arms. "What?"

Dumbledore continued to gaze at her for a little while, his expression guarded but clearly concerned. Finally, he leant forward on his elbows, and spoke to her seriously. "It protected you from the effects of Dementors, yes. But at what cost to the rest of your health?"

The movement was barely discernible, but Lena gripped her upper-arms tightly. "Your concerns about my prolonged exposure to the Orb's magic," she remembered aloud.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "The fact that the mark's size didn't decrease after you were no longer in close proximity to the Dementor..."

Lena finished the headmaster's train of thought. "It's not a good sign." A thought occurred to her. "Do you think it will stay the same size now I've encountered one Dementor, or is it going to grow every time one gets close to me?"

Removing the half-moon spectacles from his face, Dumbledore rubbed his eyes and sighed. To Lena, it was decidedly _not_ a reassuring sight.

The old wizard put back on his spectacles. "Lena," he said, leaning forward on his elbows, his expression grave, "most of what we have discussed this morning is very much in the realm of the theoretical. Everything about your connection to Hecate's Orb is unchartered territory. But what I _do_ know for certain," he looked into Lena's eyes earnestly, "is that you cannot live with that sort of Dark magic inside you without expecting serious repercussions."

There was silence in the headmaster's office. After about ten seconds, it was broken by Lena.

"It's going to kill me, isn't it?"

Dumbledore maintained his eye contact with Lena, but did not reply immediately. At last, he spoke.

"That," he said, "is entirely possible."

* * *

When Remus woke up, it took him a few seconds to remember where he was. The bed was unusually comfortable, the room unfamiliarly spacious. Sunlight streamed in through the window, the curtains open.

 _'Hogwarts,'_ he finally remembered. _'I'm back at Hogwarts.'_ He closed his eyes again, a peaceful smile breaking across his face. He was back where he had spent the happiest years of his life. Only this time, he was a teacher, not a student.

His eyes flew open and he shot up. _'A teacher with his first day of classes ahead of him._ ' Frantically, he searched for some form of timepiece. There was no clock hanging on the wall, like in his office. He scrambled over to his bedside table, and found the wristwatch his father had gifted him for his seventeenth birthday.

9:32am. "Shit," swore Remus under his breath, hastily searching for a shirt. There was less than half-an-hour until his first class was due to begin. He'd slept much longer than he was supposed to. Quickly, he dressed, keeping a close eye on the time. Pulling on his robe, he made some mental calculations. He was too late for breakfast in the Hall, but if he ran to the kitchens...

It was a good thing there was no students milling about in the corridor outside the Defense Against the Darks Art classroom at that time, for they undoubtedly would have been quite shocked to see their new Professor barrelling out of the room, his shirt half untucked, his hair sticking up at odd angles, and a slightly manic expression on his face.

But though there may not have been any students, there was another teacher.

"Remus!"

The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor skidded to a halt, and spun around to see the deputy headmistress striding towards him, a disapproving look on her face.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" she asked, her nostrils flared – a warning sign to anyone who knew her.

Under Minerva's stern gaze, Remus became much more aware of his present dishevelled state, and awkwardly tried tucking in his shirt. "I overslept–"

"Evidently," said Minerva. "But _where_ are you going?"

"Erm, to the kitchens," answered Remus nervously. "To get some breakfast."

Minerva arched an eyebrow. "I see," she said. "Follow me, please."

The way she spoke and looked at him made Remus feel like he was twenty years younger, getting in trouble after being caught up in whatever mischief James and Sirius had caused.

Minerva opened the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and gestured for Remus to go inside. He did so sheepishly. Then he followed her back into his office. He stood by his desk as Minerva shut the door, and waited to be scolded.

Folding her arms, Minerva fixed her severe gaze upon Remus. But to his confusion, the only thing she said was, "Tizzy."

For a second nothing happened. Then there was a loud _crack_ and a house-elf appeared in between the two teachers.

Remus took a step back, staring at the creature, bewildered.

"Professor McGonagall called for Tizzy?" it said – or rather, she, as it's voice was distinctly feminine.

"I did," said Minerva. She pointed at Remus. "Tizzy, this is Professor Lupin, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

The house-elf turned to Remus, looking up at him with her huge blue eyes, and politely smiled. "Tizzy is pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," she said.

Remus nodded, still not entirely sure of what was happening. "Likewise."

"Professor Lupin would like you to prepare him some breakfast," Minerva said to the house-elf. "He will have it in here."

Tizzy nodded vigorously. "Of course, Professor." She practically bounced over to Remus. "What would Professor Lupin like Tizzy to make?" she asked him.

"Uh, just some toast, thank you."

"And does sir want anything on the toast?"

"Well, some jam would be lovely."

"Any particular sort – strawberry, raspberry, blackberry–"

"Perhaps," interrupted Minerva, "you could simply provide him with a selection of options once you've made it. As exciting as a deliberation over which particular sort of jam to have on one's toast can be, Professor Lupin does have to teach his first class in," she glanced at the clock, "twenty minutes."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall." And with another _crack_ , the house-elf disappeared, leaving Remus alone with the deputy headmistress once again.

"You are a member of staff, Remus, not a student," said Minerva sternly. "When you are unable to make it to the Great Hall for your meals, you do not sneak off to the kitchens. And you certainly don't go running through the corridors – you're a man of thirty-three, not a boy of thirteen."

Remus rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Yes, sorry about that."

"When you require food," continued Minerva, "you call for Tizzy, and she'll bring something to you. But try not to make a habit of missing meals in the Great Hall."

"I won't," promised Remus. "I was just up late, making sure I was ready for classes. I won't oversleep again, I swear." He felt awful. There was something about Minerva, just like Dumbledore, that made disappointing her unbearable.

Minerva nodded. "Good." Her eyes flicked back to the clock. "Speaking of classes, I need to get back to my office to ensure my next one is ready." She went to the door, but paused as she put her hand on the handle, looking back over her shoulder. "Remus?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck for your first class." A rare smile graced her face. "I think you're going to make a fine teacher."

A small lump formed in Remus' throat. "Thank you," he managed to say, his voice suddenly hoarse. "That... that means a lot. From you."

And it truly did. Minerva's encouragement was enough to make the whole prospect of teaching a little less terrifying.

But only a little.

* * *

As it turned out, Remus needed not have worried. His first class, the Ravenclaw First Years, were eager for their Defense Against the Dark Arts education to begin, and proved to be extremely manageable for a first-time teacher.

The class that followed, the Hufflepuff Fourth Years, were slightly rowdier, but Remus, to his relief, found that it wasn't too difficult to refocus the students and engage them in a discussion about Grindylows (which reminded Remus that he needed to acquire a number of Dark creatures in order to give the students some proper practical lessons). The class, having been starved of actually useful Defense lessons the previous year – and to a degree, as Remus gathered from the academic records, the year prior to that – seemed to be pleasantly surprised by the novelty of an informing and interesting lesson, and at the end of the hour, Remus received a sincere "Thank you, Professor Lupin" from more than half the students.

So by lunchtime, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, was in an unusually good mood. He sat at his desk in his office, eating a particularly nice chicken and salad sandwich prepared for him by Tizzy the house-elf, making some final adjustments to the tests he was giving his next class, the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Seventh Years.

Then came a knock at the door.

Remus swallowed his last mouthful of sandwich. "Come in," he called.

The door opened to reveal Severus Snape, holding a goblet in his hand.

It was a good thing that Remus had just finished eating, or he might have choked on something in his surprise. Since arriving at the castle last night, the two former classmates had not yet actually spoken a word to each other.

"Lupin," said the Potions Master coldly, his black eyes glaring at his new colleague.

Remus stood up. "Sna– Severus," he said, just managing to keep his voice level, masking how nervous he truly felt at addressing Snape for the first time in... ' _Merlin, it must be fifteen years,_ ' thought Remus. "What can I do for you?" he said aloud.

A muscle twitched in Snape's face, and for a moment Remus thought an outburst of vitriol was imminent. But instead, Snape simply crossed the threshold, holding out the goblet. "Your first dose of Wolfsbane," he said tersely.

"Oh." Remus' eyes widened. He'd been so focused on the task of teaching that he'd forgotten that today marked the first day of the week leading up to the full moon. "Thank you," he said, reaching out and taking the goblet from Snape. He stared at the liquid inside, transfixed. The ability to retain his own mind as his body became the wolf's – it was actually a possibility...

"I would suggest you drink it now." Snape's frosty voice snapped Remus out of his trance.

"Of course," he replied.

Snape turned to leave.

"Wait," Remus blurted out, and Snape slowly turned back. "Severus, couldn't we just..." he trailed off, searching for the right words. "... Just let the past be the past?"

Snape's lip curled. "Move on, you mean?" he said quietly, but contemptuous. He took a step towards Remus. "Forgive and forget?"

"That's not exactly what I–"

"Forget that you and your _friends_ were arrogant pricks who humiliated anyone who _dared_ not worship the ground they stood on?" snarled Snape, taking another step forward. "Or forget that every time there's a full moon, you turn into a filthy, bloodthirsty mongrel?"

Remus clenched the fist that wasn't holding the goblet. "I'm not asking you to forget anything," he said, trying to maintain his calm. "I would simply like–"

But the Head of Slytherin didn't want to listen. "It's the selfishness that truly disgusts me," whispered Snape, his eyes glinting with malice. "That you would put all these innocent children at risk, just for the sake of a wage."

Remus firmly placed the goblet on his desk, then closed the remaining distance between himself and Snape, and stared down at the other man unflinchingly. "I know exactly what I am," he said icily. "But I will not be lectured on _morality_ by a man who once called himself a _Death Eater._ "

For a few seconds, both men's hands hovered over the pockets that contained their wands. Then Snape spun around and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Remus let out a long breath. ' _Well,_ ' he reasoned to himself, ' _that could have gone worse_.'

* * *

"Do you reckon he's going to be more practical or more theory based?" asked Maggie as she and Lena walked down a corridor on the third-floor to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Lena responded with a non-committal shrug. Her mind was too focused on other things. She barely even noticed the worried look Maggie was giving her.

Before she had left Dumbledore's office that morning, he had drawn some blood from Lena to run some tests. He had been vague about what exactly these tests might reveal, but Lena had a fairly decent idea: the rate of deterioration of her body, as caused by the magic of Hecate's Orb that still resided in her blood and soul.

Or in other words: how long she had to live.

In some respects, it didn't really surprise Lena to find out that she was probably dying. It had always been some small source of amazement to her that she had survived her separation from the Orb – it kind of made sense that she may have been living on borrowed time in the years since then.

Nevertheless, it was a little hard to focus in her classes – not to mention her conversations with Maggie and Rolf – when she was a bit preoccupied by the possibility of her own impending death.

She was brought back to her present reality by their arrival at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, she and Maggie the first ones there. The door to the room was closed. Lena checked her watch. It was still another four minutes until class began, so they leant against the wall, waiting.

The Ravenclaw members of the class arrived twenty seconds later, all together in one large group. They politely nodded at Lena and Maggie, but made no approach to speak with them. The rest of the Slytherins soon followed and, before Lena realised what they were doing, formed a tight semi-circle around her.

"So, you going to give this guy the proper Lestrange welcome?" asked Thaddeus Accrington, his voice low enough that the Ravenclaws wouldn't hear him. The rest of the Slytherins were all looking at Lena eagerly.

She blinked. "The what?"

"You know," said Flint, grinning, "show him who's boss!"

Bemused, Lena glanced at Maggie, who shrugged helplessly.

"You do kind of have a tendency to, um, _show-up_ teachers on their first day," her friend said.

"Yeah," nodded Accrington, "like, establish dominance, or whatever."

Lena had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing at Accrington's choice of words. _Establish dominance_. If they all only knew what their teacher was...

It was at that moment the classroom door was pushed open by said teacher.

Lupin smiled pleasantly at his waiting class. "Hello. Please come in and take a seat."

As they walked in, some muttering began. The classroom was set up in exam format, the desks separated from each other. Lena and Maggie exchanged a look, then both shrugged and took the two seats closest to the back right corner.

Once everyone was seated, Lupin cleared his throat and the room quietened down.

"Well, welcome to your final year of Defense Against the Dark Arts," he began. "In case you don't remember from last night, my name is Professor Lupin. Now, I understand that this subject hasn't exactly progressed as smoothly as would be ideal – through no fault of your own. So to get a better idea of where you all are at – individually and as a class – today you're going to sitting a written test for me."

Lena expected her fellow Slytherins to voice dissent – any lesson that wasn't practical in nature was usually met with some resistance from them.

But instead of protesting, all the Slytherins turned in their seats to look at her enquiringly. It was as if they were waiting for her to say something to Lupin. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes – they just wanted her to start an argument, it didn't matter what it was about.

Unluckily for her housemates, Lena thought their new teacher's plan for their first class was quite reasonable. So in response, she pointedly looked at Lupin, hoping the rest of the Slytherins would get the message and turn their attentions back to him. They all did, although in some cases – namely Flint, Accrington and Burke –it was done a little begrudgingly.

The whole episode may have escaped the Ravenclaws' notice, but Lena could tell that Lupin had observed all of it. His eyes flicked over to Lena warily, but Lena met his gaze calmly. Lupin broke their eye contact as he picked up a pile of papers from his desk and began to distribute them across the classroom.

He reached Maggie and Lena last, pausing before he gave them their test papers, the blank page of the back facing upwards. Then he went back to the front of the room.

"You all have your quills and ink out?" he asked.

A chorus of "Yes, sir," answered him.

He nodded and glanced down at his wristwatch. "All right," he said, looking back up. "You have fifty minutes to complete the test. You may turn over your papers and begin," he checked the watch again, "now."

Lena turned over the paper, intrigued to see what sort of questions he had provided. The first question, however, made her frown.

 _1\. In 150 words, identity the effects of a Blood Malediction that differentiate whether it is Type 1 or 2._

As far as Lena was aware, Blood Malediction – lifelong, debilitating, and sometimes fatal curses – were not something they were ever supposed to have covered at Hogwarts, or were likely to in their Seventh Year. The study of it was generally reserved for Healer training, and even then it was more for specialists. The only other people who tended to know much about it were those who'd read a lot of books about the Dark Arts – like Lena. So although she was fairly confident she could answer the question, everyone else was likely to be at a loss.

But when she glanced around at her classmates, instead of seeing confusion and panic, all she saw were expressions of concentration and scribbling quills.

Lena blinked, incredulous. Had she gone mad? Was there some DADA lesson she had missed where a teacher had competently and thoroughly explained Blood Malediction? She quickly scanned through the rest of the test paper, all five pages of it. The rest of the questions were on topics of a similar level of obscurity. That wasn't a problem for Lena – the more concerning aspect of the test was that the expected word length for each answer altogether added up to almost 2000 words. Which, considering the test was only supposed to be fifty minutes long, seemed unusually demanding.

So why wasn't anyone else freaking out? Lena couldn't understand it. What Lupin was expecting of them was ridiculous–

Sensing she was being watched, Lena's eyes snapped to the front of the room. It was Lupin. And he wasn't just watching her, she realised. He was studying her.

Once again, their eyes met. He didn't seem surprised that she was puzzled. In fact, he appeared to be expecting it. Then it hit Lena.

' _Ooh, you bastard,_ ' she immediately thought.

He had given her a completely different test to everyone else.

Lena decided to spend not another second on dwelling why, and refocused her attention on the first question. Lupin had set her up to fail, and she wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

 _'The most significant point of difference,'_ she began to write, ' _between Type 1 and 2 is that the latter affects the reproductive system of the inflicted, an indicator of its hereditary nature...'_

For the next forty-seven minutes, Lena wrote continuously, only ever pausing to reapply ink to the quill's tip. As a result of the hurried writing, little specks of ink dotted the paper, and her handwriting, while still legible, was distinctly messier than usual.

Two seconds after applying the final punctuation mark, Lupin called out, "That's time! Quills down, everybody. "

Lena dropped the quill, and instantly began rubbing her wrist. She hadn't noticed while she was writing, but now the motion had ceased, it _hurt_.

Lupin waved his wand, and everybody's test papers zoomed off their desk, and formed a neat pile on Lupin's.

"Thank you, everyone," said the professor. "I know you all would have probably preferred a practical lesson, and I promise the next one will be. And no homework tonight either. I think that's only fair after springing a test on you today."

Lena barely registered the looks of relief that graced her housemates' faces. She was entirely focused on Lupin.

He glanced at his watch. "All right, you're free to go. I'll see you all back here," he thought for a moment, "tomorrow morning, I believe?" There were nods and muttered agreements. "Excellent. See you all tomorrow, then."

There was a flurry of movement as people put their quills back in their bags and stood up. But Lena didn't move.

To her right, she heard Maggie asking, "Lena? You coming?"

She shook her head. "I'll see you later," she told Maggie, not taking her eyes off Lupin, who had sat down at his desk, looking over the papers he had just collected. She needed to have a word with him.

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus could see that despite his dismissal, Lena Lestrange had not yet moved from her seat. She was staring at Remus thoughtfully, tapping her fingers on the desk.

Once the classroom was empty of everyone but them, she slowly pushed her chair back and stood up. Then she made her way to the front of the classroom where Remus was sitting at his desk, pretending to read the test paper on top of the pile he had collected. Once she reached the desk, he properly looked up at her. Her arms were crossed, and she was looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

"Is there something I can help you with, Miss Lestrange?" he inquired politely.

At first, she didn't reply. Then, after a lengthy pause, she flatly said, "You gave me a different test to everyone else."

Remus leant back in his chair. "Yes," he said simply, "I did."

"Why?"

"Because I read through your academic records last night, and I didn't see the point of asking you questions to which I already knew you knew the answers."

She raised an eyebrow. "So you were trying to challenge me?"

"Did I?" asked Remus, cocking his head, genuinely curious.

Again, there was a pause before the girl responded, "Those were completely unreasonable word limits to expect me to reach in that timeframe."

"So you didn't finish?"

"I didn't say that."

"But it was a challenge?"

"Only for my hand to write that quickly." Her tone was frank, rather than insolent or defiant.

Remus held her unwavering gaze for a few seconds, then sighed and picked up the pile of test papers, flicking through them. Finding hers, he pulled it out and quickly scanned through it. She was right – from what he could see, her answers were flawless, and detailed beyond his expectations, considering the time he'd given her.

He looked back up at Lestrange, who was watching him closely.

"Why are you still here?" he asked her.

An offended look crept into her otherwise emotionless face. "Because you gave no indication that I should leave," she said curtly. "But I guess I'll take that as my cue."

"No," said Remus quickly, inwardly cursing his poor choice of words, "I didn't mean..." he gestured around the classroom, " _here_. I meant, why are you still at Hogwarts?"

Lestrange's whole body stiffened. "Is there some reason you think I shouldn't be?" she asked suspiciously, her eyes narrowing.

"Are you at an equally advanced level in all your other subjects?"

Obviously, Lestrange had been expecting him to say something else. "What?" she said, sounding confused. "Erm, probably not to the same degree, but I'd say I'm proficient. Why?"

"I'm just wondering why you didn't apply to sit your NEWTs earlier," said Remus, shrugging. "What exactly are you still hoping to learn?"

"I didn't know taking the exams earlier was an option," said Lestrange, frowning.

Remus scratched his chin. "I mean, I've never heard of anyone doing it before, but I'm sure you could have asked. Did you never think of it? No other teacher has ever approached the topic with you before?"

Lestrange shook her head. "No. I suppose I've always just thought there's always, well, room for improvement. More to learn."

"In Defense Against the Dark Arts too?" When Lestrange nodded, Remus asked, "Anything in particular you've got in mind?"

"Well..." Lestrange bit her lip and looked at the floor contemplatively, "I'm sure I can think of a few things."

Remus glanced at his watch. "Have you got another class to go to now?"

"Arithmancy."

"Then you should probably head off. Tell you what," said Remus, an idea striking him, "you come to me with a list of things you either want to improve on or learn, and if it's within my capabilities, we'll work on it so you're not wasting your time in my classes. Deal?"

Lestrange stared at him for a few seconds, as if unsure what to make of him. Finally, she answered, "Deal." She turned around and walked back to her desk, and quickly packed up her things.

As she did, Remus looked back down at her test paper. The handwriting was definitely messier than in the examples of work in her file, but she'd been correct – the quality of the content was no less.

Remus became aware he was being watched again, and looked up. Lestrange was standing at the door, bag slung over her shoulder, and regarding him with a strange expression.

He cleared his throat. "Was there anything else, or..."

After moment, she shook her head. "No." She turned backed to the door and twisted the handle, only to look back over her shoulder. "Thank you," she said, and then she was gone.

As the door swung shut behind her, Remus continued to stare at the place where she had been standing.

When Sirius had first told them that Bellatrix Lestrange had had her child, a daughter, nearly eighteen years ago, Remus had assumed that the child would either grow up to be like her mother – haughty, cruel, a leader in the new generation of Purebloods who believed in their supremacy – or like Sirius – rebellious and wild, but charismatic enough to inspire the devotion of many.

But in the two encounters with Lena Lestrange he had experienced so far, he was yet to see any more than a physical resemblance to the other descendants of the House of Black – except, perhaps, for that enviable self-confidence. She wasn't even particularly like Regulus, from what Remus could recall of his limited interaction with Sirius' younger brother.

No, Lena Lestrange was of a completely different colour altogether. She was authoritative without being forceful; reserved, but certainly not shy. He recalled how on the Hogwarts Express Harry had barely given the piece of chocolate Remus had given him a second look, but the moment Lestrange had told him to eat it, he had automatically done so. And at the beginning of today's lesson, when he had told the class they would be sitting a test, all her Slytherin housemates had looked around to Lestrange, as if to ask how they should respond. Even during their conversation just before, Remus had felt as though he had to explain himself to her, despite the fact that being her teacher, he didn't.

But there was also something... not quite _right_ about her. Something unnerving, unsettling. Yes, there was her ill appearance – her corpse-like paleness, her skeletal figure, and the dark shadows under her eyes. However, Remus was well aware that he himself usually looked unwell, so he was less concerned about that. No, it was those icy blue-grey eyes. They were calculating – and the only giveaway that there was so much more going on inside that head than she allowed anyone else to see; so much she wasn't saying. Remus tended to think of himself as a fairly introverted person, but he'd always felt that the person the rest of the world saw – if they disregarded the whole werewolf thing – was similar to the person he was inside. He wouldn't be surprised if it was a very different case for Lena Lestrange.

Remus sighed, looking back down at all the test papers. He didn't have time to be preoccupied with thoughts of Lestrange, he had papers to mark. He glanced at his watch. It was a little under an hour until his next and final class of the day. About to pick up a quill, he paused. He had missed both breakfast and lunch in the Great Hall. Perhaps it would be a good idea to go to the staffroom for just a bit.

' _Might make you feel a little more like a teacher if you actually spent some time with other ones,_ ' he reasoned to himself.

So, after depositing the test papers in his office, Remus made his way to the staffroom. Hopefully, there would be at least another couple of teachers with spare periods who had decided to do the same thing.

Just not Snape, he hoped. Remus felt that one interaction with the Potions Master was probably enough for his first day.

Opening the staffroom door, Remus was greeted by the sight of Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies Professor, standing with Aurora Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, a few metres away from the wardrobe. They were both looking at it concernedly.

"Hello," called out Remus, and they both turned to look at him.

"Oh, hello there, Remus," said Aurora, smiling. A thought appeared to occur to her. "You know, it's actually quite fortuitous that you should turn up now."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

"We believe," said Charity, "that there's a boggart in the wardrobe."

Remus looked at the wardrobe interestedly. "Really?"

"Yes," replied Aurora. "Perhaps, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, you would do us the honour of getting rid of it?"

Remus was about to acquiesce, but stopped himself. A small smile appeared on his face. "You know what? I've got a better idea..."

* * *

 **Fun fact: I was originally going to do the whole DADA lesson once through Lena's perspective and then again through Remus', but then felt it was a little repetitive and boring, so dropped it.**

 **Anyway, so now that there have been twenty chapters in this story, I'd be really grateful if anyone could let me know if there's a particular chapter they like most. It would just be quite helpful to get a sense of what sort of balance between dialogue, action and exposition people like. So I'd really appreciate it if anyone shared their thoughts on that :)**


	21. The Price

**Sorry! This was a really slow update, so thank your for patience. And thank you to ICan'tThinkOfACleverUsername, Annalise17, acetwolf94, Justmeesh33 and vballnikig for their lovely reviews, and especially to those who answered the question I asked in my last AN. I'll do my best to take into account your feedback :)  
**

 **Anyway, here's Chapter 21. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Thursday 9 September, 1993:_

It was the lack of new marks upon his body that was the most striking difference to Remus. Usually, waking up after a full moon meant cleaning the scratches he'd given himself while in his wolf-state. But this morning, there were no new scars he could see as he examined himself in his bedroom mirror.

Remus absentmindedly traced with a finger an old scar that ran down the left side of his abdomen as he stared at his reflection. Yes, that was the most _visible_ point of difference after taking Wolfsbane. But not the most important. That was what he could remember.

The morning after every full moon, Remus would wake up with a new set of memories – those of the wolf. A monster, unconstrained by empathy, by human morality, and driven by a single purpose: escape wherever his human side had imprisoned it, and _attack humans_. And when the monster inevitably found it couldn't get out, its rage would turn inwards, as it tried to rip out the human alter-ego that had incarcerated it, denying its natural proclivity for violence. Of course, the self-inflicted wounds couldn't do anything to Remus during the full moon – he just had to deal with them when he woke up.

Things had been a little different from his Fifth Year until the first couple of years of the War. He'd had the companionship of his fellow Marauders during his transformations, and somehow, the monster became less... _monstrous._ However, for the last thirteen years, every time he woke after a full moon, he could clearly remember the fury of the monster, the hatred the wolf felt for Remus.

But not this morning. There was no anger to recall. No revulsion for his human side, no compulsion to attack. Just a sense of... calm. No trying to escape his office, no scratching and biting himself. He'd just curled up and waited for the sun to rise.

The Wolfsbane Potion had worked. Better than he could have ever dreamed.

Remus yawned. His eyelids felt heavy. Although he had not expended anywhere near the amount of energy he usually did as a wolf, he did feel incredibly tired. He staggered over to his bed and sat on the edge, holding his head between his hands. Now the initial wave of astonishment and euphoria that the Wolfsbane worked had passed, it occurred to him that he was feeling a little ill.

After a while, the sick feeling began to subside, and he reached for his wristwatch. It was almost half-past seven. _'Probably time to head to breakfast,'_ he thought.

' _And,'_ he added to himself as he began to get dressed, ' _probably time to swallow your pride, and say thank you to Severus Snape_.'

* * *

 _Friday 17 September, 1993:_

"So although water can be Transfigured, food can't be because it's one of the three exceptions of Gamble's Law of–"

" _Gamp's_ Law," Lena corrected Tiffany. "And it's one of the _five_ exceptions. Also, it's not that it can't be Transfigured, it's that food can't be Conjured."

She, Maggie and Rolf were on their way to a Charms lesson, but had been joined by Tiffany and Eve, who were heading to their Transfiguration class, and had decided not to pass up the opportunity for a brief walk-and-talk tutoring session with Lena. Something that had actually become a frequent occurrence over the past two weeks – much to Maggie and Rolf's amusement.

It appeared that the two new First Year Slytherins were less interested in socialising with their classmates, and more into following Lena around like – as a chuckling Rolf had put it the previous night – a pair of ducklings. Occasionally, the pair would expand to a brood of four, as their two Ravenclaw friends, Erin and Rebecca, joined them.

It was taking Lena some getting used to, but in all honesty, it wasn't bothering her as much as she would have expected – although she had no intention of letting Maggie, Rolf or anyone else know that. Perhaps even just two years ago, the prospect of being constantly followed around by two First Years and putting up with their questions would have been unthinkable. But Lena was introspective enough to know that over the last two years, who she was had significantly changed.

"But why can you Conjure water, and not food?" persisted Tiffany.

"And how exactly does Conjuring even work?" added Eve. "How can _anything_ just appear out of thin air?"

Lena glanced down at both girls. They were walking – almost jogging, in fact, to keep up with Lena's long stride – on either side of her, looking up at her eagerly. Maggie and Rolf were a few steps behind them, and although Lena couldn't see their faces, she was fairly certain they were smirking.

She sighed. "Nothing does," she patiently explained to Eve. "Conjuring is the practice of assembling something from only elemental material. And water, compared to food, is relatively simplistic in its elemental structure. And you two just missed your turn to get to the Transfiguration classroom."

Tiffany and Eve hastily bid Lena goodbye – and Maggie and Rolf, as an afterthought – and ran back the way they'd all came. Lena shook her head exasperatedly as Maggie and Rolf caught up to her on the stairs.

"Have they asked if they can move into your dorm yet?" grinned Rolf.

Lena rolled her eyes as Maggie snorted and said, "Like hell that's happening. If they want to share a room with Lena, she can move in with _them_. Besides," she added, "I reckon they'd have to get in line behind Farley."

Her last remark made Lena frown in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Maggie sniffed indignantly as they reached the first-floor. "The girl's knocked on our door three times in the last two weeks. I mean, I know we've started actually interacting with our housemates outside of class now, but that's just _ridiculous._ "

Lena shrugged. "Well, I did offer to help her with homework this year."

"Yeah, well, I think she's taken that offer up a little _too_ enthusiastically."

Rolf laughed. "Careful, Maggie. You're beginning to sound jealous."

"I am _not_ jealous of _Farley_!"

Lena ignored Maggie and Rolf as they bickered the entire way to Charms. As changes went, increased social interaction wasn't the most concerning.

No, what was actually concerning Lena was the physical change that was currently happening to her. Namely, the continuing growth of the mark on her chest.

Although it had now been over two weeks since Dumbledore had taken a sample of Lena's blood for testing, he hadn't yet gotten back to her with the results. What she did know was that in those two weeks, the diameter of the blotch had grown by almost another inch, as had the surrounding black veins. And Lena was at a loss as to why. She hadn't had any more encounters with Dementors. And she certainly hadn't called upon the Orb's magic for anything. So what was going on?

There was only one other thing happening to Lena at present that was out of the ordinary: she felt like she was using more effort for wand-work than usual. Her wandless magic, however, was unaffected by whatever was causing that. But she hadn't told Dumbledore any of that yet. She didn't think there was any point until her blood test results came back.

To her relief, Maggie and Rolf ceased arguing by the time they reached the Charms classroom. The desks in the room were set out in pairs, so to avoid the awkwardness of deciding who would sit together, Lena pointedly placed her bag on the seat next to her. Maggie and Rolf took the hint, and sat at the pair of desks directly in front of Lena. The rest of the seats soon filled up, and Professor Flitwick began the class.

"Continuing our work on counter-charms," he began in his squeaky voice, "today we are going to be learning the Anti-Alohomora Charm."

' _Good_ ,' thought Lena. _'Something I can already do_.' She had taught herself the anti-unlocking spell nearly two years ago.

After Flitwick took the class through the incantation and wand movement, he handed out a small, locked wooden box to each student.

"You will each attempt to place an Anti-Alohomora Charm on your box," he explained. "Once you think you have successfully completed that, you will swap boxes with another student, and will use the Alohomora Charm to try to unlock the box. If the box remains locked on the first attempt, cast it a few more times to test the strength of the Charm."

Lena pulled out her wand and pointed at the box, but frowned to herself. Even just holding the wand, she could feel a slight resistance coming from it. She gripped it tighter, frustrated. Just what the hell was causing it?

She took a deep breath, and non-verbally cast the spell. As soon as the magic had left her wand, she knew that although it had worked, it was far weaker than it should have been. Lena glared at her wand. ' _Work, you stupid thing_.'

Trying again, she cast the anti-unlocking spell with the level of force she would usually reserve for duelling. This time, the charm was of a more appropriate strength, but the amount of effort she had used for it was bothering Lena.

A couple of minutes later, Rolf was happy enough with his Anti-Alohomora Charm to swap boxes with Lena.

As Lena prepared to attempt to open the box, she could tell that Rolf was watching her nervously out of the corner of his eye. Clearly, he wasn't expecting his attempt at the counter-charm to withstand an attack from her. And Lena was very much hoping to prove that expectation correct.

' _Alohomora_ ,' she silently incanted.

The box remained locked, to Lena's chagrin, and Rolf's delight.

Lena pursed her lips. Rolf was by no means a bad wizard, but this was his first time trying the anti-unlocking charm. Ordinarily, she would have been able to push aside his effort without batting an eyelid. But apparently today, she had to apply an extreme amount of pressure to even the smallest of things. And it was incredibly aggravating.

Rolf's smile disappeared as Lena raised her wand again.

Suddenly, the classroom door was flung open with tremendous force, causing all heads to snap towards it.

Standing in the doorway, to everyone's astonishment, was Dumbledore.

"Headmaster!" squeaked Flitwick, even more high-pitched than usual. Lena could understand his shock. She'd never heard of Dumbledore personally interrupting a class before – certainly not in such a dramatic manner.

"I apologise for the interruption, Professor Flitwick," said Dumbledore, his calm voice at odds with his forceful entrance. "But I need to speak to Miss Lestrange." His piercing eyes found Lena – as did the eyes of everyone else in the classroom – and despite his measured tone and expression, she could tell he was deeply troubled. "It is a matter of some urgency."

"Oh, of course," said Flitwick, watching Lena apprehensively as she pocketed her wand and stood up.

"Do I bring my bag, sir," she asked the headmaster politely, "or will I be returning to class afterwards?"

"This might take quite a bit of time," replied Dumbledore, "so bring all your belongings with you."

Lena picked up her bag and, ignoring the inquiring looks of everyone, followed Dumbledore out the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Do you have the–" she began to ask Dumbledore, but he cut her off.

"Let us wait until we are at my office to begin this discussion," he said firmly.

Lena nodded, but a nausea began to settle over her. ' _The test results are bad, then_.'

They walked to the headmaster's office in silence, anxiety growing within Lena every step they took. Finally, they reached their destination, and Lena took the same seat she had that morning two weeks ago.

From within his robe pocket, Dumbledore pulled out a scroll of parchment and began to unroll it.

"I apologise for taking you away from your class," he said, "but I only just arrived back from receiving these blood test results now, and it was paramount that I spoke to you at the earliest opportunity." He flattened the parchment out on his desk.

"So you have some answers, then?" Lena resisted the urge to try to read the parchment upside down, instead focussing on Dumbledore's sombre face.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "My acquaintances at the International Healers' Organisation were able to provide us with some, yes."

"And it's not good news," said Lena quietly.

"No," replied Dumbledore. "It is not." He leant forward on his elbows. "Lena, over the past two weeks, has the mark continued to grow?"

"Yes, it's expanded about an inch in every direction."

Dumbledore was unsurprised by this. "According to the healers I spoke with, that is because ever since your encounter with the Dementor on the Hogwarts Express, the Orb's magic has retained dominancy over your own."

Lena blanched. "You mean they're no longer combined?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. What I mean is that unlike the last six years, during which your own magic had enveloped the Orb's, these past couple of weeks, the reverse has happened."

Lena closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I think I'm going to need a bit more explanation."

"For the last six years, the Orb's magic has resided within you," said Dumbledore patiently, "unused, and encased by your own magic. Then you came into close proximity with a Dementor, and your own magic, in order to protect you, allowed the Orb's to emerge. But once out of reach of the Dementor, your own magic did not immediately reclaim its dominance."

"Because I hadn't even realised I'd used it," said Lena, nodding. "So, what – I have to do the same thing I did after I'd attacked Travers? And that'll get it back under control again?"

"I am afraid not," said Dumbledore gravely. "You see, Lena, back then the Orb's magic was a foreign matter that had been introduced to your body and soul. There was less of it, compared to your own magic. So when you combined the two, your own was naturally going to be–" he broke off, tapping a finger on the desk thoughtfully.

Lena waited for him to continue.

"Imagine," said the headmaster at last, "that your own magic is a cup of water."

She quirked an eyebrow, but only said, "All right."

"Now, imagine that the Orb's magic–" he paused. "Are you familiar with the muggle substance 'food colouring'?" Lena nodded. "Well, then imagine that the Orb's magic is a spoonful of red food colouring. So, after the incident with Lenora Travers, you put that food colouring in the water. But you didn't mix it in. So the red colour was in the water, but you didn't have a cup of red water yet. However, when the Dementor appeared–"

"I mixed it, and the whole cup of water became red," finished Lena. "And now I can't reverse it." She sighed. "And water isn't supposed to be red."

"Indeed. Which brings me to the most important part of these blood test results. Lena, since the Hogwarts Express, every time you have used your magic, you have also been using the Orb's. That is why your mark is growing – due to your frequent use of it, the residue that has remained contained in your heart for the last six years is gradually spreading throughout the rest of your body."

A thought occurred to Lena. "It also explains why I've been having difficulty with my wand." She quickly told the headmaster what she'd been experiencing the past couple of weeks. "But now I know why," she finished. "The wand is supposed to work in tandem with my own magic. Now that it's been contaminated with the Orb's, it's having difficultly recognising it."

"I would agree with that conclusion," replied Dumbledore, but Lena could tell she was still missing something.

She folded her arms. "What haven't you told me yet?" she asked.

Dumbledore leant back in his chair, but his eyes didn't leave Lena's. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke. "I will put this simply as I can, so forgive me for my indelicacy." He clasped his hands in his lap, and glanced down at them, before looking back up at Lena. "The Orb's magic, when no longer connected to the actual Orb, is poisonous to the body. The poison in your body has been dormant for this long, because you have not used the magic. But now you are, and it is spreading. The growth of the mark is a physical indication of this. And once those black veins cover the length of your whole body, once they reach your head – reach your brain – then you _will_ die."

There was a long silence as Lena considered this. Finally, she asked softly, "And when will that be?"

Dumbledore tilted his head to the side. "Well, that rather depends on you."

"How so?"

"If you keep using magic at the rate you are, then you probably have a few months at most. However, if you stopped, then you could have–"

"Stopped?" Lena's whole body went rigid, and her throat became extremely dry. "What do you mean, 'stopped'?"

"If you stopped using magic."

A noise filled Lena's ears, like a high-pitched ringing, blocking everything else out. Her vision went white. And she couldn't breathe.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds, and dug her nails into her palms until she could begin to feel them tearing through the skin. The pain was enough to make her take a breath in, and the ringing in her ears faded out, and she became aware that Dumbledore was saying something.

She opened her eyes, her vision restored. "Sorry, I missed that. What were you saying?"

Concern was written all over the old wizard's face. "I said that if you stopped, you could have another ten years left, maybe even more."

Lena swallowed. "But only if I didn't use magic again."

"Yes."

She rested a hand on her stomach, genuinely worried that she was going to throw up. Effectively, she would be a Squib – but even worse, because she would be one by choice.

She stood up and began to pace around the office, trying her best to remain composed, as she was aware of Dumbledore's eyes closely following her around the room.

Coming to a sudden stop, she faced the headmaster. "I can't do that," she told him.

"Then you will die much sooner than later," said Dumbledore bluntly.

Something inside Lena snapped. "But what is the _point_ ," she snarled at Dumbledore, clenching her fists, "in _living without magic_?"

"I believe you will find that there are millions of people who manage it." Dumbledore's voice was quiet, but there was a slight warning in his tone.

But Lena paid it no heed. "BUT THEY ARE NOT WITCHES!" she shouted, gesticulating wildly. "I AM A WITCH! IF I CAN'T USE MAGIC, THEN I AM NOTHING!" The sick feeling in her stomach made her double-over. She covered her mouth with a hand, and after a few seconds, the wave of nausea passed.

Breathing heavily, she straightened, meeting Dumbledore's gaze. He was watching her with an unreadable expression.

"I am _nothing_ ," repeated Lena hoarsely, "if I don't have magic."

Dumbledore pursed his lips, then said, "You truly cannot think of another reason for living?"

Lena snorted derisively. "What, like love?" she asked mockingly.

A look briefly flickered across Dumbledore's face, but Lena was quick enough to catch it: distrust. And she knew why – her response had sounded uncannily like Lord Voldemort.

Lena sighed. "Sorry," she said quietly. "This is just... it's a lot to take in. Can I just have another minute to think this all through?"

Dumbledore nodded, but there was a coldness to his expression that hadn't been there before.

Lena turned around, facing a cabinet in the office that was full of various magical instruments and artefacts. Keeping her gaze fixed on it, she tried to arrange her thoughts.

Two weeks ago, when Dumbledore had first suggested that the Orb's magic was killing her, Lena had accepted it. But she had done so with the belief that she would have the opportunity to research and experiment for a way to cure herself. An opportunity to save herself. Now, not only was he telling her she couldn't do that, but that she couldn't use magic at all. And in this moment, that was an even more terrifying prospect than death.

Turning back around to Dumbledore, Lena took a deep breath in and out, then asked, as calmly as she could, "There's definitely no cure?"

Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles. "Not quite. In fact, there is one way that I am fairly certain would prevent this cause of death."

Lena's eyes widened. "There is?" she breathed, hardly daring to believe it. She also couldn't help thinking, ' _And you didn't think to mention this earlier?'_

Dumbledore nodded, but his expression remained solemn. "Yes. You see, the Orb's magic would not be poisonous to you if you were still in possession of Hecate's Orb."

Her heart skipped a beat. _To hold the Orb in her hands once again. To feel that power surging through her veins. To only be restrained in what she could accomplish by the limits of her imagination..._

"No," said Lena firmly. "Absolutely not."

Dumbledore raised his white eyebrows. "Even if it means saving your own life?"

Lena shook her head. "My life isn't worth that price."

The headmaster gazed at her curiously. "I see," he murmured.

"So that's it?" questioned Lena, slumping back into her chair. "No other possible cure? Not even some kind of treatment?"

"Not at this present moment," admitted Dumbledore. "But there is now a group of wizards and witches at the International Healers' Organisation for whom that has become their priority. And they are some of the greatest minds in the world." His expression became unusually stern. "But even they will most likely need more than a few months to come up with something. So if you don't want their efforts to go to waste–"

"No more magic," muttered Lena. She knew that it should make her feel better to know there were highly competent wizards and witches on the case. However, the idea of her life being left in the hands of others made her stomach twist even more. Being helpless, letting others solve her problems for her – it was just completely against her nature.

"Exactly," affirmed Dumbledore.

Lena sighed in frustration, rubbing her temples. "But sir, I–" she hesitated, before asking, "May I speak freely?"

Dumbledore waved a hand. "Go ahead."

She took in a deep breath. "If I can't use magic, just what exactly am I supposed to be doing at a fucking magic school?"

There was a pause before Dumbledore responded, "That is a valid concern. You are currently taking Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, correct?"

Lena nodded. "Yeah, so five of them don't really require using wand-work. And Professor Lupin and I have come to... an understanding regarding Defense. But Transfiguration and Charms..." she shrugged. "How am I supposed to do them?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard, apparently carefully considering her quandary. Finally, he said, "I shall speak to Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, and tell them I have decided to directly intervene in your education in those subjects, and take you for private lessons."

"I suppose that sounds plausible," conceded Lena. "And what will I actually be doing then?"

The corners of Dumbledore's lips turned up in a dry smile. "Why, private lessons with me, of course."

Lena straightened up in her seat. "Sorry?" she said, not quite understanding.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Lessons not of a practical nature," he clarified. "But there is certainly plenty of work in the theoretical side of magic we can explore."

It was a bittersweet feeling for Lena. Working one-on-one with one of the greatest minds in Wizarding history was a genuinely exciting prospect. But the price of it...

She pulled her wand out of her pocket, and gazed at it forlornly. "No practical magic whatsoever," she said glumly. She looked at Dumbledore hopelessly. "Not even one tiny spell?"

"Not one," said Dumbledore seriously. Then a thought appeared to strike him. "Well, I suppose there are a couple of spells that use only the purest, lightest magic, so if you were to cast them, it would only be your magic enacting them, and not the Orb's."

"So casting them wouldn't make the mark grow?" It was like a small ray of light had appeared behind a thick cloud. "Which spells?" asked Lena eagerly.

"I would have to do a little more investigating," admitted Dumbledore. "But I am fairly certain about one particular charm..."

* * *

There were several large piles of essays on Remus' desk, waiting to be marked. But as it was a Friday night, Remus didn't feel too guilty about leaving them untouched. Instead, he was taking the opportunity to read something for his own pleasure.

He had forgotten the delights of having an extensive library at his disposal. It had been quite a few years since he'd been able to afford any new books to add to his own well-worn collection, and that meant he hadn't really kept up-to-date on any Wizarding academic breakthroughs – or at least, as much as he would have liked. So over the last couple of weeks, he had been doing his best to remedy that ignorance. His selection tonight was a fascinating tome called _A Brief History on Time_ by a witch named Stephanie Hawkins, an expert on the subject of time travel.

Completely engrossed in his reading, a knock on his office door made Remus jump in his seat, startled. He frowned, looking at the clock. A quarter past nine. It was a little late for a student to be making a visit to his office. But he had briefly popped into the staffroom after dinner, so surely if any of his fellow teachers had wanted a word with him, they would have done so then.

He placed a bookmark in his book and closed it, calling out, "Come in!"

The door opened, and Remus blinked in his surprise when he saw who his guest was.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir," said Lena Lestrange. "But I was wondering if I might speak to you about something?"

"Of course," said Remus, hoping he was hiding his surprise. He gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk. "Please, take a seat."

Lestrange flashed him a small smile, closed the door behind her, and quickly took her seat. Her attention appeared to be immediately drawn to _A Brief History on Time_. She indicated to it. "Fascinating read, isn't it?" she said.

Remus smiled. "Yes, very interesting," he agreed. "Now, what is it you would like to discuss?"

Although it had been two weeks since his first Defense lesson with Lestrange, she had been yet to approach him with a topic that she wanted to learn more about. Instead, she had been using his classes mostly for her own private study. Occasionally, however, her housemates – but never the Ravenclaws – would approach her for assistance if they hadn't quite gotten a spell right, or weren't sure about some of their written work, and she would acquiesce. Remus closely monitored these interactions, but didn't intervene. It was such a rare thing to see Slytherin students asking for help that he had no intention of discouraging it. Lestrange obviously had earned the respect and trust of her housemates. And although of all his Slytherin students, his Seventh Years were the least openly hostile to him, he didn't think they were comfortable enough yet to ask him for extra help.

But perhaps now she had decided on what it was she wanted to improve on, or learn. And Remus was intrigued to know what it was.

"I've thought about your offer," began Lestrange, "and I've come to a decision as to what I would like you to teach me."

"Well, if it's in my capabilities–"

"It is," said Lestrange quickly. "I know it is, because I've already seen you do it."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Lestrange nodded. "Yes. Professor, I would like to learn how to cast a Patronus."

Well, Remus certainly hadn't been expecting _that_. "The Patronus Charm?"

"Yes."

Remus scratched behind his ear, feeling a little confused. "I don't know if you're aware," he said carefully, "but the Patronus Charm is actually on the Seventh Year curriculum. We'll probably be doing it in class a few weeks before the Easter break."

"I know, but I'd like to learn it _now_."

"I don't quite understand," said Remus, staring at Lestrange, puzzled. "Why not wait to learn it with the rest of your class? Why the sudden urge to learn it now?"

Lestrange looked at him with a blank expression for a few seconds, then leant back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Well, I don't know if you've noticed," she said lightly, "but there's currently an army of Dementors surrounding Hogwarts."

It was a valid point, but Remus had a feeling that Lestrange was holding something back. And he had a sneaking suspicion that she was entirely feigning her nonchalant demeanour. Nonetheless, he would play along with her for the moment.

He cocked his head. "Are you concerned about them for any particular reason?"

"I'm concerned about the fact that without the Patronus Charm, I'm effectively defenceless against them," replied Lestrange, her voice flat.

"Do you expect to be getting on the wrong side of them any time soon?" he asked wryly.

"I wasn't planning on it, no."

"Then why are you concerned about being able to repel them?"

The look Lestrange gave him was distinctly unimpressed. "Do you honestly trust the Dementors, Professor?"

"Trust them?"

"You're a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," she said. "Dementors are one of the Darkest species of creatures. Do you really think they became the guards of Azkaban because they have the best intentions of the Wizarding community at heart?"

"I don't _like_ Dementors," admitted Remus. "And I think being able to cast a Patronus is a valuable skill. But neither have the Dementors given us a reason to believe they will attack without provocation. So I'm not sure I quite understand the urgency behind your desire to learn the Patronus Charm."

Lestrange stared at him for a few seconds, as if she was considering something. Then she uncrossed her arms and straightened in her chair. "One of the reasons Professor Dumbledore selected me for the position of Head Girl," she said carefully, clasping her hands in her lap, "is that he believes my magical ability is sufficiently high enough to protect students from potential harm that may befall them. Now, a student may have no malicious intent, but it is possible one could unintentionally cross a Dementor. And if I am in a position where I could intervene in such a misunderstanding, it is imperative that I am able to perform a Patronus Charm, so I can protect that student."

Remus rubbed his chin. There was something about the very controlled way she had said it, and was now looking at him, that seemed... _off._ Like she was hiding something.

"I appreciate that is something concerning you," he finally responded. "But I'm also getting a sense that you're not being entirely honest with me."

Lestrange narrowed her eyes. "No, I'm not," she said bluntly. "But nei–"

She abruptly stopped, and bit her lip.

Remus frowned. "But what?"

Clearly, Lestrange was fighting back the urge to say something. She looked down at her lap for a few seconds. When she looked back up, her expression was smooth once again.

"But neither am I being dishonest," she said.

Remus knew at once that this wasn't what she'd originally intended to say, but he didn't push it any further.

"I am not going to give you every reason I have for wanting to learn the Patronus Charm," continued Lestrange. "But the ones I have given you are valid, I can promise you that."

"I respect that," replied Remus patiently, "but I still believe that you can wait to learn with the rest of your class."

Lestrange visibly tensed, and Remus could see that she was struggling to maintain her neutral expression. He wondered if she was unaccustomed to meeting so much resistance from someone.

"Professor Lupin," said Lestrange after a long pause, "in my past six years as a student at Hogwarts, on how many occasions do you think I have approached one of my teachers for help?"

It didn't take long for Remus to come to an answer. "None."

"Exactly," said Lestrange. "On no occasion have I ever asked a teacher for help." She paused, looking Remus directly in the eye. "Until tonight."

A strange feeling came over Remus, and he wasn't quite sure what it was. Flattered? Nervous?

"So, tell me, sir," Lestrange went on, "why do _you_ think I am here now, asking to learn how to cast a Patronus?"

Remus intently gazed at the girl sitting opposite to him. "Because you need to," he finally answered. He looked down at his desk, and chewed his lip thoughtfully. Then he looked back up at Lestrange. She was watching him closely.

"All right," he said. "First lesson is tomorrow night."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Because this is a pretty big (in terms of narrative direction, not length) chapter, I would really love to hear your reviews/responses/reactions to this one :) And if you have a question/comment you do specifically want me to reply to (either in the next AN, or by PM) just say so, and I will.**

 **Until next time :) (which I'm hoping won't be too far off!)**


	22. Childish Sentiment

**Hello! So to make up for the long wait between the last two chapters, I'm not only updating after just one week, I'm posting two new chapters together :) I hope that's a good thing?  
**

 **Thank you to Calllisto and KayMist for their reviews on the previous chapter, I really appreciate them! (And have more in-depth replies to them in my AN at the end of this chapter) And also thank you to Corii00 for their lovely review on Chapter 20, because I forgot to thank them in the last chapter's AN.**

 **Anyhoo, here's Chapter 22! Hopefully, a few of you might have some thoughts to share after reading this one...**

* * *

 _Saturday 18 September, 1993:_

"Is Miss Lena sure she's had enough to eat? It would be no trouble for Tizzy to make one of Miss Lena's favourite caramel tarts, or if there was something else Miss Lena was feeling like–"

"I'm fine, Tizzy, really," Lena assured the house-elf, who was looking up at her imploringly. "The quiche was more than enough." Tizzy still appeared unconvinced, so Lena added, "I promise I'll come back later tonight if I feel hungry."

This promise seemed to satisfy the worried Tizzy, so Lena bid her and the rest of the house-elves goodbye, thanking them for her dinner, and began to make her way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. A mixture of anticipation and dread was building inside her, as each step she took brought her closer to her first Patronus lesson with Professor Lupin.

When she had asked the Defence teacher the previous night to teach her the Patronus Charm, she had not expected his initial reluctance. It had, in fact, been somewhat alarming. The moment Dumbledore had told her that the Patronus was the only spell she was allowed to attempt casting in the foreseeable future, she had clung onto it like a lifeline. It had also finally presented Lena with an answer to Lupin's offer from their first class– something he could do that she couldn't.

She had tried to teach herself, of course. Over the summer, as soon as Dumbledore had written to her about the Dementors being stationed outside Hogwarts, Lena had desperately tried to call forth her Patronus, but to no avail. She knew the incantation and she knew it required focusing on a happy memory. But Lena couldn't even get a spark of silvery light out of her wand. Perhaps, then, learning to cast a Patronus necessitated an extra element – something that needed to be taught by someone who actually had experience. At least, that was what Lena was hoping. Surely, there had to be another explanation as to why Lena couldn't learn it herself, other than just incompetence.

Lena glanced down at her right hand. The fingers were twitching, hovering just above the pocket in which her wand was kept. She was literally itching to use it. It had been well over thirty hours since she had last used magic – the longest, as far as Lena remembered, she'd gone without it since...

She frowned, genuinely struggling to recall a day in her life where she hadn't used magic. After she had begun lessons with Voldemort when she was four years old, she had practised her wandless magic daily, and had continued to do so even after his disappearance. Then when she was seven, Valeriya had bought her a wand, and she'd started learning to use that. Even during the summer holidays, when the underage Hogwarts students were specifically told _not_ to use magic, Lena hadn't stopped. That was one of the perks of living in Knockturn Alley: there was so much Dark magic, and so many protective enchantments everywhere, that the Trace just didn't work there.

But Lena had promised Dumbledore yesterday, that, with the exception of the Patronus Charm, she would not use magic unless faced with absolutely no other choice. And it was already driving her mad – not to mention that the possibility of any other student finding out was scaring the absolute shit out of her.

The reputation that Lena had built for herself since her First Year to stop anyone from going after her revolved principally around one idea – any threat she made, _could_ and _would_ be carried out if her warning was ignored. But without magic, what was the worst she could do? Sneak up behind people and hit them over the head with a particularly heavy book? If anyone decided that they wanted to have a go at Lena, she was defenceless against them.

Of course, Lena knew if that were to happen, she _would_ use her magic to protect herself – and thereby saving her from the present danger, bring her closer to the future one.

So now, Lena was chiefly relying upon her reputation as her protection. And she hated it.

Reaching the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Lena paused outside the door. She checked her wristwatch. It read three-minutes-to-nine, just before their agreed beginning time for the lesson.

It occurred to Lena that since leaving Dumbledore's office yesterday, Lupin was the only person with whom she'd had a proper conversation. When she'd seen Maggie and Rolf again in their Care of Magical Creatures class, she knew they'd wanted to ask her what Dumbledore had spoken to her about. But Lena, still trying to process everything, had retreated into herself, and Maggie and Rolf knew her well enough to realise that she hadn't really wanted to talk. So they had simply asked her if she was okay, to which Lena had responded with the blatant lie, "Yes."

Then, after her final class of the previous day, Lena had wandered aimlessly through the secret passages of the school until she felt composed enough to speak to Lupin. She had avoided anyone else from then until this evening, when she'd finally regained her appetite, and had gone to the kitchens for dinner.

Lena opened the classroom door and entered. Lupin was sitting at his desk, staring blankly ahead with a concerned expression.

When he saw her, he stood up. "Lena, there you are."

Lena registered the use of her first name for the first time with interest, but she was more surprised by the slightly relieved tone of Lupin's voice. She frowned. "I'm not late, am I?"

Lupin stepped out from behind the desk. "No," he said, "I didn't see you in the Hall at dinner..." he rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I was just wondering if everything was all right?" He sat on one of the student desks in the front row.

"Oh." Lena stared at him. He seemed genuinely concerned.

' _Well, I recently found out that due to my stupidity as an eleven year old, I am incurably sick and will most likely be dead before I'm twenty-eight. Or quite possibly much earlier than that, because currently, the only way I'll make it to my eighteenth birthday is if I stop using magic. Which is not only terribly inconvenient, but also fucking terrifying. And because of my screwed-up childhood – the highlights of which include having a totally disinterested father and a completely psychotic mother, absolutely adoring my teacher who is generally regarded as one of the most evil people in Wizarding history, and almost murdering my grandmother – I am so emotionally stunted that I can't even bring myself to tell my best friends that I am dying.'_

Lena smiled. "Yeah, everything's fine," she assured Lupin. "I was just working and lost track of time. But I stopped by the kitchens before I came here and grabbed something to eat, so I'm all good now."

Lupin returned the smile. "I'm glad to hear that. I know Seventh Year can be stressful – even more so if you're Head Girl, I imagine – but it's important to make sure you're taking care of yourself."

Lena took a seat on the desk that was separate but directly to the left of Lupin. "Well, I try my best," she said.

Lupin nodded, shifting so he was facing her front-on. "So," he began, "the Patronus Charm. What do you know about it?"

"A full, corporeal Patronus basically works as a magical guardian. It generally takes the form of whatever animal or magical creature with whom the caster shares the greatest affinity. The Patronus can serve as protection against Dementors, and also Lethifolds. The incantation is _Expecto Patronum_ , and in order to be cast successfully, you must focus on a happy memory."

"Succinctly put," said Lupin. He cocked his head. "I'm curious – have you attempted casting it before now?"

"Yes. But obviously," Lena gestured around the classroom, "I was unsuccessful."

"It is an extremely difficult spell," said Lupin, and Lena got the sense he was trying to make her feel better about her failure.

But that only served to irritate her. "Difficulty," she said stiffly, "is not an excuse for failure. Only impossibility."

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you draw the line at impossibility?" He sounded faintly amused.

"No, I said it's a reasonable excuse for failure. But I don't draw a line. That would imply the impossible is never achievable."

"Surely, by definition, that _is_ the impossible," countered Lupin, folding his arms.

"To the narrow-minded, perhaps," replied Lena derisively. "To those who are more enlightened, the impossible is what is _yet to be_ possible."

Lupin unfolded his arms, and leant back. He looked... _impressed_. With Lena. Which made her feel very self-conscious.

She smoothed back a few loose tendrils of hair. "We're getting off topic," she said coolly, hoping to hide the wave of nervousness that had unexpectedly affected her.

Lupin cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Yes, of course. Right. Well, do you mind if I ask what memory you used when you last attempted a Patronus Charm? I know it's very personal," he added, upon seeing Lena's immediate discomfort. "You don't have to be detailed. It just gives me an idea of what you were working with."

Lena fidgeted with the hem of the cardigan she was wearing. "The first time I successfully Disarmed my aunt."

Now, Lupin gave her a look that was markedly _un_ impressed. "That was the happiest memory you could think of?"

"My aunt's an extremely talented duellist," said Lena defensively, "and I was ten years old at the time. It was a pretty significant accomplishment."

Lupin appeared to be struggling to find the words to describe how ridiculous he found this. He shook his head in disbelief. At last, he asked, "Do you usually measure happiness in terms of accomplishment?"

Lena glared at him. "Are you under the impression," she began to say heatedly, "that my li–"

' _Shut up!'_ yelled a voice in Lena's head, and she quickly clenched her mouth shut.

"Am I under what impression?" asked Lupin sharply.

Somehow, Lena had to turn this around, and she didn't think it would be as easy as fixing her gaffe from their conversation the previous night. She internally cringed at the memory.

 _'I appreciate that is something concerning you. But I'm also getting a sense that you're not being entirely honest with me.'_

 _Lena had narrowed her eyes. 'No, I'm not. But nei–'_

'But neither are you.' That's what Lena had almost said, about to bring up the point that Lupin was hiding that he was a werewolf. She had only stopped just in time. Otherwise, she was fairly certain that Lupin would have taken it as an attempt to blackmail him.

And yet again tonight, she had to backpedal. "I was just going to say that I'm very much a goal-oriented person, so–"

"No," interrupted Lupin, his voice surprisingly forceful. "You did this last night: you start saying something, then you stop yourself and say something completely different."

Lena stared at him, stunned that he'd actually called her out on it.

"I'll ask you again," continued Lupin. "Am I under the impression that your _what_?" His eyes were boring into hers.

Nervously, Lena tugged on a loose lock of hair that had escaped her messy bun. She did not want to finish that sentence – especially _honestly –_ but she suspected that if she didn't, Lupin would call off the Patronus lessons.

She sighed, giving in. "Fine. Are you under the impression that my life has presented me with a wealth of happy memories?"

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "Lena, I don't really know anything about your life," he said, sounding bemused. "So why do you think I'd make an assumption either way?"

His response threw Lena. "You know my parents are in Azkaban, right?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes," said Lupin. "But since I don't know what your relationship with them was before they were incarcerated, I wouldn't know what effect that's had on you."

Lena didn't really know how to reply. Such non-judgmental behaviour was a rarity.

She twirled the loose lock of hair around her index finger. "Being good at stuff," she said finally, "is what has always made me happy. Excelling. It's part of who I am – more than my face, more than my name. That's why I chose the memory of Disarming my aunt."

Lupin nodded slowly. "I respect that. I really do. But the memory you select when casting a Patronus has to elicit a strong emotional response within you. It can't just be contentment, or satisfaction, or even pride. It has to be a moment where you felt pure _joy_. A euphoria. Now, is that honestly the feeling you recall from that memory?"

Lena bit her lip. "No," she admitted.

"Then try to think of something that does."

It was easier said than done. Desperately, Lena racked her brain, but a moment of joy was not forthcoming.

"Many people find that a memory pertaining to their loved ones is most effective," suggested Lupin.

' _Wow, that's super helpful_ ,' the internal voice said snidely. Lena wasn't even sure who her loved ones were. She regarded Valeriya as an important person in her life, and in their own particular ways, they did care for each other. But she didn't think they'd shared any moment of pure, unadulterated joy.

Maybe something to do with Maggie and Rolf, then. That Christmas morning at Newt and Tina's house, Lena decided. She'd definitely been happy.

"I think I've got one," she told Lupin.

"All right," he replied, standing up.

Lena followed suit.

"Now," continued Lupin, pulling his wand out of his pocket, "focusing on that memory, point your wand very deliberately," he demonstrated so, "and in a loud, clear voice, say _Expecto Patronum_."

Pulling her wand out of her pocket, once again Lena felt a slight resistance coming from it. Considering she was only supposed to be using the purest, lightest magic, hopefully it would behave better than it had for the Anti-Alohomora Charm.

She pointed it at the wall, and focused hard on the memory of that Christmas morning, exchanging gifts, finally moving to first-name basis with Maggie, and Newt's delight that she had listened to him and was making an effort to form human connections.

 _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Nothing. Not even a flicker of silver light. Lena glared at her wand.

"That was perhaps a tad too... aggressive," suggested Lupin. "I understand it's very important to you that you learn this, but you can't let desperation be the motivating emotion behind a Patronus. Take a minute to clear your mind of everything but that happy memory, and then we'll try again."

Lena nodded, closing her eyes. ' _It's just another spell,_ ' she told herself. ' _You can do it_.'

Yes, just another spell. She'd had a false start, but surely someone as talented as herself would be casting a full, corporeal Patronus by the end of the lesson.

* * *

 _Saturday 2 October, 1993:_

"It's no bloody use! I can't do this _stupid_ spell!"

Remus stared at the angry girl. She was clutching her wand so tightly her knuckles had gone white, and her lips were curled in a furious snarl.

It was Lena's third Patronus lesson, and she was still yet to create even the smallest silvery light. Remus had meant it when he said the spell was difficult, but even so, he was a little surprised that a witch as skilled as Lena had made no progress. He knew some wizards and witches were never able to cast a Patronus in their life, but he hadn't expected that she might be one of them.

"Ugh!" Lena threw down her wand on the desk behind her and rubbed her face, her frustration evident in her posture.

Remus sighed, sliding off the desk on which he'd been sitting. "Maybe it's time to pick another memory," he began to say, but was cut off.

"I have tried _eight_ different memories," snapped Lena, her eyes the iciest Remus had even seen them. "And that's all I have. There aren't any more."

"There has to be something else you haven't tried–"

"Did you not hear me? There isn't anything else!" Lena agitatedly ran her fingers through the hair on top of her head, messing up the tight, high ponytail it'd been in. "What kind of ridiculous spell relies on fucking _happy memories_ , anyway?" She let out a small scream of anger. " _Argh!_ "

Remus stared at her, bewildered. How could this girl be the same one who had so calmly confronted him over giving her a completely different test to everyone else in the class? Her manner was usually so controlled, so composed. Now, it looked like at any second she might start throwing the chairs and desks around the room.

Maybe this anger didn't just stem from her unsuccessful attempts at the Patronus Charm. Maybe there was something else happening that was adding to this frustration.

He slowly approached her."Lena," he said cautiously, "is there something causing you a lot of stress?"

"Stress?" She glared at him as if he was a fool. "No, I'm having an absolutely _wonderful_ time being a complete and utter _failure_!" Vitriol was entrenched in her voice.

"I meant outside of these lessons," Remus quickly clarified.

"What's that got to do with anything?" she snapped.

"That might be what's causing you problems–"

"What is causing me problems," hissed Lena, "is that the only way to cast this fucking spell is to use some childish _sentiment_ , instead of actual _skill_."

That was when it hit Remus. "This is actually an entirely new experience for you, isn't it?" he said, looking at her with wonder. "You've never not been able to cast a spell before."

"Of course I haven't!" said Lena angrily and, to Remus' amazement, stamped her foot. "When I want to do something, I _do_ it!" Her voice grew louder in its fury. " _Failing_ is what _idiots_ do!"

Remus crossed his arms, and frowned at her. "No, it's what normal people do."

"Same thing!"

Well, that was telling. "That's how you see everyone else, is it?" inquired Remus, his tone mild but serious. "As fools?"

Lena appeared to lose what little control she had left of her temper. "How else am I supposed to see them?" she shouted. "I've been doing wandless magic since I was four! I was an accomplished Occlumens by the time I was six! I successfully Apparated on my first attempt! I have performed magic that you couldn't even dream of! And _normal people_ struggle to understand the _basic_ concepts behind Conjuring and Vanishing! So if I can't do the Patronus Charm, then there isn't something wrong with me – THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THIS STUPID, _BLOODY SPELL_!"

The classroom fell silent, with the exception of Lena's heavy breathing. She was glaring at Remus, her shoulders heaving and her fists clenched. Her expression was one of untempered fury, and she looked quite unhinged. For the first time, Remus could see more than a passing resemblance to her mother. And it disturbed him.

"Perhaps," he said, slightly colder than he'd intended, "we should end tonight's lesson and try again next week–"

"Don't you get it?" interrupted Lena, quieter than before, but still bitter. "There's not going to be a next week. If I haven't done it by now, I never will."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Didn't you tell me two weeks ago that the impossible is just what is yet to be possible?"

Lena picked up her wand and unceremoniously shoved it in her pocket. "Well, congratulations, "she said, not looking at him. "You've proved me wrong."

That didn't sit well with Remus. "Are you implying that I was _hoping_ you would be unsuccessful?"

She looked at him, then shrugged. "I don't know, _sir_. I don't really know anything about you." Her tone was belligerent, and that irritated him.

"You may be clever, Lena, but I will not tolerate disrespectful behaviour from you," he warned her.

She looked at him contemptuously."Well, _I_ believe that respect has to be _earned_."

Remus stiffened. "Your lack of progress with the Patronus Charm is not a reflection of my teaching ability," he said harshly. "That _failure_ is completely on _you_."

Lena's expression became _murderous._ Her right hand twitched, and for a second, Remus thought she was going to pull out her wand and curse him. Instead, she clenched it into a fist. Her face, though still angry, regained some of its former composure.

"I'm not sure if you're aware," she said coldly, "but the headmaster is now taking me for private lessons for Charms and Transfiguration. He's also offered me the same for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and I think I'm going to take him up on it."

"I think that's a very good idea," replied Remus, equally icy. "I won't be expecting you in class, then."

"No, you won't." With that, she turned around and stalked out of the classroom.

The door slammed shut behind her. Remus, desperate to let out some of the anger that had been building inside him over the last few minutes, violently slammed his fists down on the nearest desk. It hurt, but at that moment he didn't care.

He had been intrigued by Lena ever since their first meeting on the Hogwarts Express. The daughter of Death Eaters who appeared to have some sort of friendship with the Boy-Who-Lived. Head Girl, academically brilliant, and respected by her Slytherin classmates. His conversations with her had only served to further that fascination – that calm but confident comportment, an admirable determination and self-discipline.

But tonight, he had seen something else. Something volatile. Something bitter. Something... _Dark._

And now, Remus felt certain that something, that _someone_ , was the real woman behind the carefully-worn mask.

That had been the _real_ Lena Lestrange.

* * *

 _Sunday 3 October, 1993:_

The next morning, Lena left her dorm before dawn and made her way to the Great Hall. The house-elves started sending the breakfast out at about six o'clock every morning, but as it was a Sunday, Lena doubted anyone else would be there before seven. Which would be ideal, because now, more than ever, Lena wanted to eat in isolation. Even the house-elves were too much company for her this morning.

Just thinking about the previous night made Lena want to punch a wall. It hadn't only been stupid of her to let herself get so angry, but dangerous too. She'd almost lost control and used accidental magic, which would be bad enough in normal circumstances, but now would have been tantamount to suicide.

She'd done enough damage without it, anyway. Lupin clearly despised her now, and she didn't blame him. He had seen – well, she wished she could call it the 'ugly side' of her, but it had been much more than that. What her failure with the Patronus had stirred inside of her was the oldest part of Lena, the part that had remained unchanged since childhood. Angry, resentful, and contemptuous. The part of her that hadn't cared that Voldemort was a murderer, only that he was very clever, and thought she was too.

Opening the door to the Hall, Lena was surprised to discover that she wasn't the only exceptionally early riser that morning. Sitting at the Ravenclaw table and staring off into the distance was Erin. She appeared to be so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice Lena's entrance.

Ever since the blood test results had confirmed that she was dying, Lena had done her best to avoid the four First Year girls. In truth, she'd being doing her best to avoid everyone, even Maggie and Rolf. In some respect, it was hardly surprising she had blown up at Lupin – apart from Dumbledore, he was the only person with whom she'd recently had extended conversation.

Lena did her best to not make a sound as she went over to the Slytherin table, so as not to alert Erin to her presence. But as she drew nearer, the more apparent it became that all was not well with the young girl. Her eyes were puffy and red, as though she had been crying all night, and her whole body language seemed to indicate she was in the throes of devastation.

It made Lena pause. Trying to provide comfort to someone else was just about the last thing she felt like doing right now. On the other hand...

' _You're the Head Girl_ ,' a more rational, emotionally detached internal voice reminded her. ' _You're supposed to help other students in whatever way you can. Just because you're in the middle of a personal crisis doesn't mean you let others suffer too.'_

Lena sighed, and changed course. "Erin?" she called out softly.

A startled Erin dropped the spoon she'd been holding into the full bowl of cereal in front of her. She turned around to look at Lena. "Oh, hi, Lena."

Lena sat down beside her, but facing away from the table. "You're up very early," she said.

Nodding, Erin sniffled slightly. "Yeah. Bad night's sleep," she muttered.

Using the gentlest tone she could, Lena asked, "What's the matter?"

Erin bit her lip, and Lena could tell she was internally debating what to say.

Finally, the younger girl made up her mind. "I don't know if you remember," she began quietly, "but on the train, when you were helping me, I sort of told you what the Dementor was making me remember."

"Your father," recalled Lena. "You said he'd collapsed." She'd remembered it because at the time she'd suspected that Erin's father hadn't... well, hadn't gotten back up again.

Erin nodded slowly. "He died," she said in a very small voice.

So Lena had been right. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," murmured Erin, staring down into her bowl.

"And you didn't sleep last night because you were thinking about it?" asked Lena.

Erin made a noise of agreement, but didn't look up.

Uncomfortable, Lena scratched her neck. Obviously, there was more that Erin wasn't saying, but she was hesitant to push her. Sighing, she spun around so she was facing the table and grabbed an apple from a bowl of fruit.

"Why don't you eat something," she suggested, "and when you're done, we can go outside and watch the sun rise."

At last, Erin looked up at her. "That sounds nice," she said, trying to smile.

Lena shrugged, returning the attempted smile. "I find it sometimes helps if I haven't slept well. Makes me feel," she hesitated, "I don't know, calmer, I suppose." She took a bite from the apple.

"Did you have a bad night as well?" asked Erin, picking up her spoon again. "Is that why you're up so early?"

"Well, it wasn't great," said Lena drily. "But I'm pretty used to it." About to take another bite, she noticed Erin's questioning gaze. "I have a lot of bad nights," she explained.

Erin nodded, then began her cereal. She finished it about the same time as Lena finished her apple, and together they left the Hall, which apart from them, was still empty.

Reaching the castle's main entrance, Lena pushed open one of the doors and looked outside. It was still quite dark, but Lena could make out the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon. Gesturing for Erin to follow her, she exited the castle and made her way to the hillside that overlooked the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's cottage.

They stood there in silence, gazing at the sky as a cool wind washed over them. Golden and pinkish light began to fill the sky, the sun slowly rising.

After a while, Erin broke their companionable silence. "It was my fault," she said, barely audible over the wind.

Lena glanced down at her. "What was?"

"My dad's death."

Raising an eyebrow, Lena simply asked, "How so?"

Erin folded her arms across her chest, tightly hugging herself. "It was just us at home. My mum was out visiting her mum. We were in the kitchen together, making dinner so it would be ready by the time she came home. Then he started shaking, and fell to the ground, and instead of calling the ambulance right away–" she paused, looking at Lena. "Um, an ambulance is this thing that–"

"I know what an ambulance is." Lena had learned when she was getting her driver's license. "Go on."

But Erin didn't immediately restart her story. "I'd only recently turned ten," she eventually said, "and I had no idea I was a witch. I thought I could just make extraordinary things happen. Like stopping a falling tree branch from crashing into our car, or when for a class project, we each had a pot-plant to look after, and mine lived for twice as long as everyone else's. And one time my mum fell off a ladder and broke her arm so badly the bone was almost pushed out of the skin, so my dad drove us all to hospital, and I didn't let go of her hand the entire way. By the time, we'd arrived, her arm had completely healed." She breathed in jerkily. "So when Dad collapsed, the first thing I thought was that I could fix him." Her shoulders began to shake, and a sob escaped her. "I was holding onto his arm, hoping, just hoping, that I would make something happen. But in the end, the only thing that happened was that he went still." She wiped her eyes. "It wasn't until then I even thought of calling an ambulance."

Lena hesitantly placed a hand on Erin's shoulder. "I don't think that really makes it your fault," she said quietly.

Erin stared up at her with tearful eyes, shaking her head. "Even if they couldn't have arrived in time, they might have been able to tell me how to help him over the phone."

"Did you ever ask?" inquired Lena. "When you found out the cause of death, did you ask if there was something that you could have done to prevent it? Whether anyone could?"

Hanging her head, Erin replied so quietly that Lena almost missed it. "I couldn't. I just couldn't ask, because if I did..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence; Lena understood.

She removed her hand from Erin's shoulder and looked down at the upset girl, unsure of how to proceed. Clearly, Erin was still grieving her father. But grief wasn't an emotion that Lena was particularly experienced in feeling. Abandonment, resentment, loneliness – yes. But not grief.

"Have you spoken to anyone else about all of this?" asked Lena. "Your family, friends, a teacher?"

"I can't," answered Erin. "I'm just – just – just _scared_." A fresh wave of tears began to roll down her face.

"But you just told me," pointed out Lena.

"It's d-d-different with you," sobbed Erin. "I thought you w-would underst-t-tand, because you j-just have this, this k-kind of – of _sadness_."

' _Wow, thanks_ ,' thought Lena, feeling a little miffed. Erin must have noticed the slightly affronted look that had crossed Lena's face, because she suddenly looked embarrassed.

"I didn't mean you always look sad," said Erin quickly. "Just that, well, you sort of give off this, this – _vibe_ – that you've, um, been through a lot."

Lena put her hands on her hips. "Oh, so now I look _old_ as well as _sad_?" she said with mock indignation.

It was enough to finally get a smile out of Erin again. "Sorry."

She waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine," she said, smiling wryly. "I think I get what you're trying to say." She became serious again. "But to be honest with you, I can't really understand what you're going through. I don't think I can even imagine it."

This seemed to surprise Erin. "You can't imagine it? Losing one of your parents?"

Lena pursed her lips, not sure how to respond. Eventually, she cleared her throat and said, "I take it no one's told you, then."

"Told me what?"

"Erin, both my parents are serving life sentences in Azkaban, the Wizarding prison."

The small girl's jaw actually dropped. "Your parents are in jail?"

"They have been for twelve years."

Erin blinked several times, before tentatively asking, "Do... do you miss them?"

"I really don't."

Lena's blunt response seemed to take Erin aback. "Oh." She swallowed. "Did they do something... really bad?"

"They did a lot of very bad things," replied Lena flatly. "But the only thing they were actually charged for was torturing a witch and wizard into insanity."

"Oh."

"So, do you get why it's a little difficult for me to imagine grieving for a parent?"

Erin nodded slowly. "It makes a little more sense now, yeah." She looked up at the sky. The sun had risen. Morning had broken. "Shall we go back inside now?" she asked.

But her conversation with Erin had sparked a sudden desire in Lena. "You head in," she told Erin. "I'm going to stay out here a bit longer."

"Oh, okay." Erin made to leave, but paused. "Thank you," she said, "for, you know, listening."

Lena smiled. "No problem." But as Erin began to walk away, she called out, "Erin?"

"Yes?"

"Talk to your friends about it," advised Lena. "When you're ready, of course."

She watched Erin make her way back to the castle for a little longer, then turned around and set off towards the Forbidden Forest.

Talking about her parents had brought all kinds of thoughts and memories to the forefront of Lena's mind.

 _"Could you teach me to hurt her back? Like, properly hurt her?"_

 _"I could teach you to kill her, if you like."_

 _"Really?"_

 _"Really. Oh, believe me, Lena – I understand what it's like to want to rid yourself of a parent."_

Yes, Lena had imagined losing a parent. But in a very different way to what Erin had meant.

Reaching the edge of the Forest, Lena wondered how she would react if she received news that either of her parents had died while in Azkaban. She assumed her feeling towards Rodolphus' death would be much the same as she remembered his own towards her – indifference. But if Bellatrix died, Lena was genuinely unsure of whether she would be happy that she was gone, or angry that she didn't get to be the one who'd done it.

After a couple of minutes of traversing through the Forest, she arrived at her intended destination. It was a small clearing, and at present, empty of anyone except Lena.

That soon changed, as something else entered the clearing.

A Thestral.

Professor Kettleburn had taken Lena's Care of Magical Creatures class here for one of their final lessons the previous school year – a lesson that hadn't exactly worked the way Kettleburn had planned, as Lena was the only in the class who was actually able to see Thestrals.

The Thestral noticed the human intruder and came to a stop, staring at Lena.

Slowly, Lena approached the creature, stretching out her hand. The Thestral eyed her warily, but didn't move a muscle. When she was about five feet away from it, she came to a halt, but left her hand outstretched. After a few seconds, the Thestral edged towards her. It sniffed her hand curiously. At the same time, Lena noticed another four Thestrals standing around the edge of the clearing, watching her interaction with their kin.

Once the first Thestral was done inspecting her hand, Lena backed away to the edge of the clearing, and the other four Thestrals joined the first. Leaning against a tree, Lena watched the creatures intermingle with each other. They didn't seemed bothered by her presence.

Lena had liked Thestrals ever since she'd first seen them pulling the carriages from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade Station at the end of her First Year. There was a certain beauty to them, she found. Not just in their unusual appearance, but their nature – that nature which caused them to be misunderstood by so many people. And now, it was not only the misconceptions about them that were making Lena feel a connection, but also their close relationship to death.

If Bellatrix or Rodolphus were to die today, Lena doubted there was anyone who would truly miss them – even each other. Nobody would be devastated by it, not in the way that Erin had been devastated by her father's death.

But what if Lena died today? Or tomorrow? Or any time in the next few months? Sure, anyone could die at any time, but for Lena, it was more than just chance, a potential consequence of external forces that were out of her control. She knew for a fact her death was impending, and there was a very real possibility it could happen before the end of the year. And if that were to happen, would there be anyone to miss her? Were there loved ones who would be inconsolable if she shuffled off this mortal coil?

She struggled to see Valeriya being devastated over her passing – particularly when her aunt knew that Lena had brought her untimely death upon herself by messing with something that Valeriya had told her to leave alone. So what about Maggie and Rolf? Or Harry? Was she close enough to any of them that they would grieve her passing?

A pang shot through Lena at the thought that nobody would mourn her, that nobody would feel that raw pain she had seen on Erin's face when she spoke of her father.

 _'On the other hand,_ ' thought Lena, ' _it's surely better that way._ ' Wouldn't it be kinder to leave behind no mourners? Wasn't it selfish to actually want people to miss her, to want them to feel pain?

Everything now happening to Lena was her own fault. She was paying the price for her own stupidity, and feeling sorry for herself was childish and weak.

' _But,_ ' thought Lena, _'so much easier than accepting responsibility.'_

Lena stayed with the Thestrals for nearly an hour before heading back to the castle. She had a Transfiguration essay to finish for her private lessons with Dumbledore. She went to her dorm to pick up her stuff before going to the library.

Opening her dormitory door, she saw that Maggie was sitting on her bed, flicking through her Herbology textbook. Upon seeing Lena, her expression became very serious.

"Lena," she said, "we need to talk."

Lena halted, and looked at Maggie warily. "About what?"

Maggie closed her book and put it on the bedside table. Then she looked back at Lena. "About the fact you've been avoiding Rolf and me for the last two weeks." She crossed her arms. "We get that sometimes you need space. I respect that. But ever since you told us that Dumbledore's taking you for Transfiguration and Charms, you've completely cut yourself off from both of us. I thought that a week would be enough time for you to either get over it, or feel ready to tell us what's happened. But it's been two weeks now, and you haven't given any sign that things are going to go back to normal. So, we need to talk," she finished.

This was the moment, Lena realised. She was standing on the brink, being faced with a choice. To tell Maggie everything: she was dying, she couldn't use magic, she did truly care about Maggie and was so grateful to have her as a friend. Or to keep it all shut up inside of her, and tell Maggie to mind her own business. It was the moment to decide: did she pull her in, or push her away?

' _It's between being nice,'_ Lena realised, _'or being kind_.' And when she put it like that, she knew what she had to do.

Lena walked over to the trunk that lay at the end of her bed. Her bag was sitting on the lid. She started rifling through it, to check everything she needed for the Transfiguration essay was in there.

"You know," she said, affecting a bored tone, "we never used to _need_ to talk." Certain everything she required was in the bag, she swung it over her shoulder and faced Maggie. "Especially about ourselves. That was actually one of the main reasons I let you hang around me."

Maggie's eyes flashed with anger. "Excuse me?" She stood up. "You _let_ me?"

Lena shrugged. "Yes. It was that, but also because what better way to show the rest of Slytherin that I didn't need _them_? That I didn't need their approval."

Maggie stared at her, disbelieving. "Oh, so your decision to _associate_ with me was just some political manoeuvre? A– I don't know – a power move?"

"Essentially."

Maggie shook her head. "I don't believe you. I don't _fucking_ believe you."

"Whatever." Lena turned to leave.

"And Rolf?" Maggie called out. "Was that some... _show of strength_ too?"

Lena turned back to Maggie. "Partly," she said unconcernedly. "But also the connection he could provide me to Newt."

Maggie was staring at Lena like she'd never seen her before. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

" _Wrong_ with me?" Lena laughed mirthlessly. "Nothing's _wrong_ with me, Maggie. But Merlin, have you gotten _weak_ over these last few years."

" _Weak_?" retorted Maggie. "What, because I'm actually able to express emotion now? That's not being weak, that's called opening up, and it's what normal people do!"

As soon as Maggie said 'normal people', Lena felt that angry and contemptuous part of her burst out.

"What is it," she snarled, "about being _normal_ that makes people so desperate to be it? _Normal_ is what people want to be when they know they can't be _important_."

Maggie looked bewildered. "Lena, just what the fuck has happened?" she cried. "You're acting like, like–"

"I'm acting like _myself_ ," said Lena coldly. "You see, that's what happened – I decided to stop pretending that I was someone else."

"And you think this is your real self?" asked Maggie angrily. "This bitter and spiteful _bitch?"_

Lena stared at Maggie for a moment. Then she gave her a twisted smile. "Tell me, Maggie – what do you think happened to Lenora Travers?"

Clearly, Maggie hadn't expected her to say that. "What?"

Lena took a step towards her. "Do you believe the official report, that she messed around with potions and accidently poisoned herself, or do you believe the rumours, and think I'm to blame? Because you," she pointed at Maggie, "never asked me. So, either you were naive enough to wholeheartedly believe that I would never do such a thing. Or you did suspect I was behind it, and either was too much of a coward to confront me over it, or you just didn't care if I attacked people with Dark magic – which really wouldn't say much for your moral compass." She spread her hands in an _I-don't-know_ gesture. "Which one is it, Maggie? Naive, coward, or uncaring?"

Maggie looked sick. "Get out," she said, her voice hoarse.

"Gladly," sneered Lena. She turned around, then half-looked back over her shoulder. "So, a coward, then."

Almost at the door, Lena heard Maggie hurriedly reaching for something on her bedside table. Quickly, she spun around.

Maggie was pointing her wand directly at Lena.

Inwardly, Lena panicked. For the first time – the first time of her entire life – she was going to have to bluff.

She spread her arms out wide. "Go on, then," she dared Maggie. "Try it. Start a fight, and let's see how well you come out of it."

For ten seconds, neither of them moved. Then Maggie brought her wand down and turned around, Lena catching a glimpse of a tear beginning to roll down the other girl's cheek.

Lena turned around and pulled the door open. She exited the dorm, letting the door slam shut behind her with a bang.

Instead of going directly to the library, Lena first went to the girls' bathroom on the Ground Floor, which to her relief was empty.

She pushed open one of the cubicle doors, dropped her bag on the floor, and threw up into the toilet.

Her chest heaving, she braced herself against the sides of the cubicle. ' _You did the right thing,'_ she told herself. ' _It would have been selfish of you to let her in, to get closer.'_

She threw up again.

Lena closed her eyes. She could tell herself she'd done the right thing as much as she liked. But she still couldn't get the image of that tear rolling down Maggie's face out of her mind.

* * *

 **Just a couple of quick responses to reviews:**

 **Calllisto: I'm glad you're enjoying the story :) To be honest, I'm kind of relieved that you think the story could be complete without romance. It was important to me that Lena was a developed enough OC that she could carry a story as a lead by herself. But with that being said, Lena and Remus' relationship is going to play a very important role in this story, and I do hope you like how that progresses :)**

 **KayMist: It's wonderful you're enjoying the development of Lena's character :) The approach I'm trying to take is that her development isn't strictly linear, but messy - trying to navigate her way through all these obstacles and twists and turns,** ** **branching off, retracing her steps, and always struggling to take that next leap forward. Because I think that's a lot more human than someone going directly from A to B, from bad to good, or vice versa. And that's sort of the whole point of the story :)  
****

 ** **And now, on to the next chapter!****


	23. Where the Apple Falls

_Sunday 31 October, 1993:_

It was the first Hogsmeade trip of the new school year, but the morning of Halloween found Lena in the Forbidden Forest rather than on her way to the Wizarding village.

Once again, she was sitting in the small clearing, watching the Thestrals. It was a spot she had frequented over the past month, finding a strange comfort in the company of the skeletal winged horses. In fact, they were the only company she sought now.

Well, she didn't mind spending time with Harry so much. She knew it was fucked up, but the fact that he was a Horcrux made her feel more comfortable with him than she did with anyone else now. The shadow of death had been cast upon him too, although not as darkly as it hung over Lena. Not that Harry knew any of that. Dumbledore had been very clear about that when they'd discussed the topic at the end of the previous year. It was a difficult situation, but Lena found herself agreeing with Dumbledore: Harry wasn't ready to bear that burden, not yet.

But other than a few conversations with Harry, and her lessons with Dumbledore, Lena's interactions with others had become extremely limited. Yes, she still answered questions in class, and she had Prefect meetings every Wednesday evening. But now she completely avoided the four First Year girls, and she'd stopped helping Gemma Farley with her homework. And Maggie and Rolf...

That was over. She and Maggie had not exchanged a single word since their argument. Lena was no longer even staying in their dormitory. There was one spare girl's dorm in the Slytherin Dungeons, and Lena had moved all her stuff into it. She knew her housemates were dying to know what had happened between her and Maggie, but they hadn't dared ask. Lena was no longer the helpful classmate, the one they turned to for direction. Once again, she was the girl with the _reputation_ , and to be left well alone.

The one person who knew – or at least, _thought_ he knew – the reason behind the breakup of her and Maggie's friendship was Rolf, as Maggie had evidently told him not long after the argument. So naturally, Rolf had confronted Lena over it. And doing her best to push him away as well, Lena had been as nasty as she possibly could. So that friendship was over too.

A small noise to Lena's left drew her attention. It was Mortimer, returning from his explorations in the Forest. Lena held out her hand, and the bowtruckle climbed on. She placed him on her lap and looked down at him. But he didn't meet her gaze. He hadn't abandoned her after her fights with Maggie and Rolf, but nor did he hide how unhappy he was about it.

Lena sighed, resting her head against the tree trunk she was sitting in front of. Everything sucked.

She couldn't even go to Hogsmeade today to visit Dervish and Banges to check out their new releases, because that would mean having to pass the Dementors. And being in close proximity to Dementors meant the Orb's magic would try to make its presence known again. And that meant the poison would spread even further throughout her body. And that meant having to finish writing her will, which she'd been putting off.

' _You wouldn't have that problem,_ ' the snide internal voice reminded her, ' _if you could do a Patronus_.'

The thought was enough to once again make Lena mad at herself. Not just because of her inability to perform the charm, but because of how she'd spoken to Lupin. From everything she'd seen of him during the first month of classes, Lena had come to the conclusion she quite liked him. Not just because he was by far the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts had had during her time there, but because he seemed like a genuinely decent and intelligent person. The fact that he was also a werewolf was kind of intriguing too – intriguing not because he was a werewolf, but because he was a werewolf who hadn't rejected Wizarding society, as most of them did. And Lena would have very much liked to get to know him better. Alas, she had massively screwed up that opportunity.

"Oi, yer not s'posed ter be in 'ere!"

Lena turned her head right so fast that her neck made a _crack_. Rubbing it, she looked up and saw Hagrid standing a few metres away from her, staring at her with his dark eyes.

 _Professor_ Hagrid, now. That still took some getting used to.

Startled, Mortimer jumped off her lap and hid behind the tree, before Hagrid could notice him too.

"I know," replied Lena mildly. "You can give me a detention, if you like."

Hagrid's bushy eyebrows flew up in surprise at her response. Lena noticed that swung over his shoulder was a large cloth bag. Something was dripping from its bottom.

"Why aren't yeh in Hogsmeade?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don't have any reason to be," Lena lied smoothly. She pointed to the bag. "Have you come to feed the Thestrals?"

Hagrid glanced at the bag, then nodded. "Why do yeh ask?"

Lena bit her lip, hesitating. At last, she stood up and asked, "Can I help you?"

By this point, Hagrid didn't just look surprised – he looked _astonished._ "Help me?"

"Help you feed," she gestured to the Thestrals, "them, yes."

The gamekeeper continued to gape at her for a little while longer, before gruffly saying, "All righ', then."

He came closer to her and put the bag on the ground. He opened it, and the smell of raw meat filled Lena's nostrils. Hagrid pulled out a large slab of what looked like raw beef, and held it out to Lena.

"Here yeh go," he grunted.

Not wanting to appear squeamish, Lena took a firm hold of the meat. "Do I give it to any particular one?" she inquired.

The smell of meat had brought the Thestrals in the clearing closer to where Lena and Hagrid were stand, and had also called forth several others from further within the Forest. And all their eyes were fixed on the meat.

Hagrid indicated to the Thestral standing the most far too the left. "Try Umbrius." From the bag, he pulled out what Lena could only assume was a whole cow's leg. "Throw it to him," he told her. "Like this." He threw it, and the cow's leg landed next to the rightmost Thestral. At once, three of them pounced on it.

However, the eyes of Umbrius the Thestral stayed on the meat in Lena's hands. She threw the slab, and it landed directly in front of Umbrius, who eagerly began tearing strips of the meat off, devouring it.

Over the next few minutes, Lena and Hagrid emptied the contents of the bag, and soon all of the hungry Thestrals had their breakfast. Lena observed their consumption of the meat with mild interest. But instead of doing likewise, Hagrid's eyes were on her. She got the sense that he was trying to decide whether to say something to her, and after a minute of silence, it occurred to Lena what that probably was.

"You want to tell me that you saw my mother when you were in Azkaban last year, don't you?" she said, glancing up at the giant man.

After a pause, Hagrid replied, "Heard her, not saw her. I had ter go past her cell ter get ter mine."

Lena nodded. "Did she sound like she'd gone even more mental since being there?" she asked lightly.

"I'd say so," replied Hagrid after some consideration.

"Hard to believe that's even possible," murmured Lena, turning her gaze back to the Thestrals.

"Yer not really like em', are yeh?" said Hagrid suddenly. "Yer parents, I mean."

"No, I wouldn't say I'm _like_ them," said Lena delicately.

"Though' so," said Hagrid, nodding. "Dumbledore wouldn' have picked yeh for Head Girl if yeh were."

Lena didn't know how to reply, so she didn't say anything.

They stood together in silence for a little while longer, watching the Thestrals finish their food. Then Hagrid spoke.

"Well, I've got work ter do," he said, picking the empty bag up. "As for that detention..."

Lena quirked an eyebrow.

"I'll let yeh off with a warning this time," finished Hagrid, his eyes twinkling.

"I appreciate that," replied Lena, half-smiling.

Watching Hagrid walk away, she suddenly felt something crawling up her leg. She looked down; it was Mortimer. She extended her left hand down to pick him up, catching sight of the time on her wristwatch as she did.

"Shit," she muttered, quickly putting Mortimer on her shoulder. The hour was later than she'd realised. Harry had told her he couldn't go to Hogsmeade, so she'd agreed to spend some of the day with him. Giving the Thestrals one last parting glance, she hastily started to make her way out of the Forest.

* * *

"Why didn't you let me fight it?"

Remus raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought that was obvious, Harry," he said, surprised.

He was sitting in his office with Harry, who he'd seen wandering the corridors alone. It was a Hogsmeade trip day, and evidently Harry's aunt and uncle had not signed his permission form – which from what he remembered of Lily's descriptions of her sister and brother-in-law, was not entirely surprising. So, happy to take whatever opportunity he could to get to know his friends' son, Remus had invited Harry in to see the newest arrival at Hogwarts: a Grindylow. And now, over a cup of tea, their conversation had turned to Harry's very first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Remus.

"Why?" asked Harry again.

"Well," said Remus, frowning slightly, "I assumed that if the Boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort."

Harry stared at Remus, who wasn't sure whether the boy was confused by the assumption, or shocked because he'd said the name.

"Clearly, I was wrong," continued Remus, still frowning. "But I didn't think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialise in the staff room. I imagined that people would panic."

"I did think of Voldemort first," said Harry. "But then I – I remembered those Dementors."

That was... unexpected. "I see," said Remus thoughtfully. "Well, well... I'm impressed." He smiled slightly at the look of surprise on Harry's face. "That suggests that what you fear most of all is – fear. Very wise, Harry."

Harry's brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to say something, only to stop himself and take a sip of tea instead.

But Remus was curious. "What's the matter?" he asked, watching Harry closely.

"It's just that..." Harry hesitated. "Erm, I just think that Lena would disagree."

It took some effort for Remus not to grimace. "Is that so?" he asked politely.

Harry stared down at his mug. "She reckons there's nothing wrong with feeling fear – it's an instinct of survival. It only becomes a problem when in the face of it, you do nothing."

Remus had to admit the idea had merit. ' _Not that a Gryffindor would ever think of it,'_ he thought. It sounded more like a Slytherin ideology – but one of their better ones.

"Perhaps, then," he finally said, "what you fear most is not fear, but a failure to overcome it."

Harry nodded, and Remus could tell that he liked the sound of that more than Remus' initial theory.

He rubbed his chin, looking at Harry. Clearly, the boy thought highly of Lena Lestrange, and Remus was curious to know how that connection had formed. Minerva had given him a brief account of everything that had happened in the Chamber of Secrets at the end of last May, but he wondered if there was something between them pre-existing that. And what was Lestrange's interest in Harry? It concerned Remus.

"Are you close with Lena?" he asked Harry, trying to keep his tone casual.

"Yeah," answered Harry, "I guess you could say that." He eyed Remus warily. "Why do you ask?"

Remus sipped his tea. "It's a little uncommon," he said after swallowing, "to see a friendship that bridges not only the house divide, but that age gap too."

Harry made a non-committal noise.

Trying to delve a little further, Remus asked, "Did you first properly meet in the Chamber of Secrets, or did you know each other before then?"

Harry's brilliant green eyes narrowed. "Why are you so interested?" he asked suspiciously.

"As I said, it's uncommon." Remus hesitated, before saying, "Harry, I was once a thirteen year old boy too, and I know if an attractive, older girl started paying attention to me, I–"

"Hang on," interrupted Harry, holding a hand up, "I don't think you've got the right idea. I don't fancy Lena. And she's not, not using her... her..." he appeared to be struggling to find the words, "her _feminine charms_ or whatever to get something from me." He screwed up his face in disgust. "That would just be _wrong_ ; she's like my–" he abruptly stopped.

Remus looked at Harry curiously. Like his what?

Harry sighed. "She's like my sister," he finished quietly.

There was a long pause.

"I was only concerned," said Remus carefully, "because I've seen her get a bit... a bit... oh, Merlin, how do I put it?" he muttered.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't worry," he told Remus, "I know she's not perfect. Believe me, some of the stuff you probably _think_ about her is nowhere near as bad as some of the stuff I _know_." He shrugged. "She's complicated. You'd be too if you'd lived her life. But I like her," he said firmly. "She's my friend."

Remus leant back in his chair, gazing at Harry. He was being strongly reminded of Lily.

He just hoped that Harry's friendship with Lena would turn out better than his mother's had with Severus Snape.

"I admire you, Harry," Remus eventually admitted. "Not many people would be so willing to look past that... _complex_ history between your families."

Harry snorted. "Her parents were the followers of the guy who murdered my parents. It's not really that complex." He paused, drinking from his mug. Wiping his lips, he continued. "From everything I've heard about my mum, she's nothing like her sister, my aunt. It's the same with Lena and her parents."

"We can't choose our relations," murmured Remus.

"Exactly." Harry appeared to remember something. He cocked his head. "You think Lena's attractive?"

Remus, who had just at that moment taken another sip from his mug, choked on his tea. "W-what?" he spluttered.

"An attractive, older girl," said Harry, grinning. "That's what you said before."

Remus would have scolded him for his impertinence if Harry hadn't so plainly reminded him of James at that moment.

"A purely objective observation," said Remus, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Harry shrugged at his reply, raising his mug to his mouth. Just before he drank from it, he muttered something under his breath that sounded awfully like, "I wouldn't call it _objective_."

* * *

When Harry exited Lupin's office, his mind was still fixed on the potion Snape had prepared for the Defence teacher. He knew he had been wrong about Snape before, back in his First Year, but it was so clear the Potions Master _loathed_ Lupin that how couldn't you at least _suspect_ that Snape might try to cause him harm?

He started to make his way up to the Owlery, his initial destination before being waylaid first by Filch, and then Lupin. Just as he was about to begin his ascent of the West Tower, someone called out his name.

"Harry!" It was Lena.

He turned around, smiling. "Hey," he greeted her. Recalling the words he'd exchanged with Lupin about Lena, he couldn't help but look at her a little more closely than usual.

Her long hair was piled on top of her head in a bun, which meant her whole face was more visible than usual. Harry supposed he could see how she might _potentially_ be called pretty. But the complexion was so pallid, the bags beneath her eyes so obvious, her whole appearance so gaunt, that it was a little peculiar Lupin had thought that Lena was using her looks to manipulate Harry.

Her charisma could be far more dangerous.

"What, do I still have leaves in my hair?" asked a frowning Lena, reaching up to touch her hair, and Harry realised he'd been staring at her too long and obviously.

"No, you're–" He stopped, raising his eyebrows. "Why would you have leaves in your hair?"

"Hmm?" She patted her head to check anyway. "Oh, I was in the Forest."

Harry crossed his arms. "That would be the _Forbidden_ Forest, right?"

Lena placed a hand on her hip. "Really? _You're_ going to lecture me about being out-of-bounds? Didn't you go in there last year just to bother a colony of Acromantulas?"

"I wasn't Head Girl," he reminded her.

"Fair point." She indicated to the staircase of which he was standing in front. "Were you going up to the Owlery?"

"Yeah. I don't have a letter to send, I was just going to visit Hedwig."

They began to climb the stairs.

"So why were you in the Forest?" questioned Harry.

"I enjoy the atmosphere."

Harry snorted. "You mean the creepiness and sense of foreboding?"

"You've only ever really been in there at night," Lena pointed out."It's different during the day, and I don't go in particularly deep."

The smell of feathers and droppings soon made itself known, and Harry and Lena entered the Owlery. Being a snowy owl, Hedwig was very easy to pick out. Harry extended his forearm, and Hedwig flew down from her perch.

"Hello," murmured Harry as she landed on his arm. He stroked the back of her head.

"What about you?" asked Lena. "How have you been entertaining yourself this morning without Ron and Hermione here?"

Harry hesitated before replying. "Actually, I was having tea with Professor Lupin in his office."

"Were you, now." There was a certain stiffness in Lena's voice that puzzled Harry. He had been hesitant to tell her because of Lupin's seeming distaste for her; it hadn't occurred to him that the feeling might be mutual.

"He's got a Grindylow now," he told Lena, deciding that was the subject that would most likely avoid any further awkwardness. "In his tank in his office."

"Uh-huh. Are you mainly focusing on creatures in Defense Against the Dark Arts at the moment?"

Harry nodded. "We've covered Boggarts, Red Caps and Kappas. I'm guessing the Grindylow is next." He smiled. "It's definitely become my favourite class."

Lena chuckled wryly. "Amazing the difference a good teacher makes."

"And you think he's good?" asked Harry, curious.

"Yeah," replied Lena nonchalantly. "I mean, from what I've seen of him."

Harry remembered that Lena was now taking private lessons with Dumbledore instead of going to regular class for Defence. "Right, yeah." He wondered why, if she thought he was a good teacher, she had a problem with him. Lupin had implied that he'd seen a less savoury side to Lena. Had there been an argument between them?

They spent a few more minutes in the Owlery, before heading to the library. Lena had offered to help him with his History of Magic homework.

"So the Chief of the Wizards' Council at the time was Murdock Bardoon–"

"Burdock Muldoon," Lena corrected him. "And it was his successor, Elfrida Clagg, that redefined Beings as all magical creatures that could speak a human tongue."

Harry quickly wrote that down. "How do you remember all this stuff?" he mumbled.

"I have a very good memory."

Pausing his writing mid-sentence, Harry looked up at Lena, a question having formed in his mind. "Does practising Occlumency help with that?"

Lena smiled. "That's a good question," she said. "See, there are actually a couple of different techniques for Occlumency. One is just letting your mind go blank, with the exception of what you _want_ people to think you're thinking. But that's not how I do it."

Harry tried to remember what she'd told him after the events of the Chamber. "You described it as being like a house."

"Yes. It's a more complicated process, but it does give you more structure, more control over your mind – including your memory. It's similar to the method of loci."

"Which is?"

"The method of loci," explained Lena, "also known as a 'memory palace', is a technique of memory enhancement that relies on visualisation and spatial memory. It's been used by both Wizards and muggles for over two thousand years."

"It sounds complicated," said Harry.

"It isn't really. You could learn it if you wanted to – but only if you were willing to put in the effort and the time. However," her expression became stern, "you have a History of Magic essay to finish. So no more distractions." She pointed at the parchment in front of him. "Back to work."

When Harry had completed his homework to Lena's satisfaction, they exited the library, heading in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower so Harry could drop off his work before having lunch in the Hall.

Walking down a corridor on the first-floor, Harry heard a group of girls' voices coming from around the corner. Before he knew what was happening, he had been yanked into a nearby classroom.

He stared in confusion at Lena, who was shutting the door behind them. "What are you–" he began to ask, but stopped when she shushed him. They silently waited in the room for almost a minute before Lena opened the door a crack. She peered outside, and upon seeing the corridor was empty, sighed in relief and pulled the door open the full way.

"What was that all about?" asked Harry, bemused.

"Just some First Years," replied Lena, walking back into the corridor.

Harry followed her out. "Since when do you hide from First Years?"

"I wasn't hiding from them," said Lena tetchily. "I was avoiding them."

Harry didn't see much of a difference, but only asked, "And why were you avoiding them?"

"Because they would have wanted to talk to me, and I didn't feel like it."

He glanced up at Lena. She was staring straight ahead as they walked, and Harry thought her expression was troubled.

That made him remember something. "Lena, I've been thinking."

"Sounds dangerous."

"Ha-ha. No, I've been thinking about what you told me about Neville."

Lena looked at him sharply. "Is that so?"

On the first full day back at Hogwarts, Harry had met with Lena in the library to ask her about the Dementors. Well, that had been the first thing they'd discussed. The second thing he'd wanted to know was just what exactly was Neville's problem with Lena. So she had told him what her parents had done. Now, Harry could understand why Neville looked at her with so much hate.

"I think you should talk to him about it," he said.

"And what do you think I should say to him?" asked Lena quietly.

"What you told me," said Harry. "That you hate what your parents did, that you're not like them."

Lena tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, sighing. "What would be the point, Harry?"

"He'd know you're different, he wouldn't..." he paused, wondering what was the most delicate way to phrase his next words.

But he needn't have bothered with such sensitivity when talking to Lena. "He wouldn't hate my guts?" she said flatly.

"Er, yes."

"That doesn't matter, Harry. How I feel shouldn't have to be any concern of Neville's."

"But you didn't do anything to his parents!" argued Harry. "There's no real reason for him to hate you!"

"Maybe not, but he's got a valid reason to hate. And my presence here makes it a lot easier for him to feel that hate."

"But that isn't good for him, is it?"

"Why not?" countered Lena, shrugging. "I've held on to my hatred for fourteen years, and it hasn't done me any harm."

Harry genuinely couldn't tell whether she was joking, or being deadly serious.

* * *

That night, Remus noticed that Lena Lestrange was actually eating dinner in the Great Hall for once, joining the rest of the school for the Halloween Feast. She was sitting at the end of the Slytherin table nearest to the Hall's entrance, opposite two of the First Year girls. They were talking to her, but the older girl seemed lost in thought.

Lena had been on his mind since his conversation with Harry that morning. Had he been too quick to judge her in that last Patronus lesson? Harry had sounded so sure of her. Did that just come from helping him take down the heir of Slytherin, or was there something else?

There was one thing in particular that Harry had said that was now etched in Remus' mind. 'S _ome of the stuff you probably_ think _about her is nowhere near as bad as some of the stuff I_ know.'

Remus looked down the staff table, to the centre where Dumbledore was sat. He had chosen Lena for Head Girl – an unexpected choice, he gathered from the gossip in the staffroom. That suggested the headmaster regarded Lena highly. Did he know whatever it was that Harry knew, the 'bad stuff'? If so, and he'd still selected her for the position, surely that meant there was enough 'good stuff' too.

He would talk to her, Remus decided. Reinstate the offer of Patronus lessons. If she refused, then that was it – he would spend no more time dwelling upon the enigmatic girl. If she accepted, then maybe he would finally discover what made Harry and Dumbledore trust her so much.

Just as he'd made his decision, he was drawn into a conversation with Filius about the various creatures Remus' Third and Fourth Year classes had been studying. But every so often, his eyes flicked back to Lena.

Which was why he noticed when she got up from the table when the after-Feast entertainment –provided by the Hogwarts ghosts – began, and discretely slipped out of the Hall.

' _Well, there's no time like the present,_ ' thought Remus. He quietly excused himself from the staff table, and left via the teachers' entrance, unnoticed by the eyes in the Hall that were fixed upon the gliding ghosts.

* * *

Lena was about to descend the stairs to the Dungeons when she heard footsteps behind her. She looked back over her shoulder, and was stunned to see who was briskly walking towards her.

"Lena," called out Professor Lupin. "May I have a word?"

She hesitated, then politely responded, "Of course, sir."

Lupin looked around. "Do you mind if we converse in a less potentially public place?" It appeared he wasn't intending this to be just a brief chat.

"Not at all," said Lena. She pointed to the end of the corridor in which they were standing. "There's a courtyard outside on the left, if that works?

Lupin gave his assent, and a minute they were sitting outside on one of the courtyard's benches. It was a cloudy night, so there was little moonlight, but the burning torches hanging all around the walls provided more than enough illumination.

"How can I help you, Professor?" asked Lena smoothly.

"I was speaking to Harry today," said Lupin.

"Yes, he mentioned it."

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I see. And did he happen to mention anything we discussed?"

"Just the arrival of a Grindylow."

"Ah. Well, something else that also came up was what form Harry had expected his boggart to take in our first class. He told me a Dementor."

Lena nodded slowly. "I can see how that would be what he fears most."

"Do you?" asked Lupin, sounding surprised. "My initial belief was that it would be Lord Voldemort."

"Oh, no," said Lena immediately. "I mean, if someone murdered your parents, do you think you would be more scared of them, or would you be more angry at them?"

The Defence professor considered this for a moment. "I'd want revenge," he finally answered.

"Exactly," said Lena. "Your anger and hate towards them would outweigh your fear. So it makes far more sense that a Dementor, something that tries to suck out all of your _hope_ , would frighten Harry most. A fear of being helpless in the face of terror."

"That," said Lupin after a short pause, "is remarkably similar to what Harry said you would think."

"Huh," said Lena, a little surprised. "He actually does listen to me sometimes."

"Evidently," remarked Lupin. He was gazing at Lena intently. "I would like to apologise," he eventually said, "for the way I handled our last Patronus lesson."

That perplexed Lena. "Why? You didn't do anything wrong." Now, she felt a little embarrassed. "I should be the one apologising to you. Scratch that, I'm the one who have apologised to you _weeks_ ago."

However, Lupin shook his head. "I'm your teacher. You were obviously... distressed. And I think I only escalated that, instead of trying to help you."

"But there wasn't any way to help me," insisted Lena. "Not at the time. When I get angry like that, I don't _want_ to be helped." She looked directly into Lupin's eyes. "I promise you, Professor, you are in no way to blame for me losing my temper, and acting like..." She bit her lip. "Well, like a bitch."

"I think that's being a little harsh on yourself."

Lena looked at him incredulously.

Lupin's lips turned up at one corner. "I'd say it was more childish than bitchy."

She snorted amusedly. "Childish?"

Lupin's face broke into a full grin. "I mean, you basically threw a tantrum."

A small, indignant noise escaped Lena. "I did not!"

"You _stamped_ your foot."

Lena opened her mouth to argue, then shrugged. "Fair enough," she conceded.

There was a companionable silence for a little while, before Lupin broke it, his expression once again serious.

"With that been said," he began, "there were certain things you said, attitudes you expressed, that I did find... troubling."

Lena held a hand up. "I'll stop you there. You're referring to when I suggested that anyone who wasn't as smart as me was an idiot, I take it?"

"Yes."

Nodding slowly, Lena tucked her right foot under her left leg, making herself more comfortable. "Okay. Here's the thing, Professor: I am not, by nature, a prejudiced person. I am not a bigot. But nor am I naturally an empathetic person. By that, I don't mean I have difficulty imagining how other people feel –I struggle to _care_. Tolerance is a not a virtue instinctive to me, especially towards anyone I consider less than _extra_ ordinary. So I have had to learn and practise it. I _try_ to be empathetic, to be caring, to be tolerant. But when I get angry, when I lose my temper, they're the first things to go."

Lupin didn't respond right away; he appeared to be contemplating her words. At last, he said, "I appreciate your honesty."

Lena inclined her head in acknowledgement.

There was a short pause, then Lupin began to say, "Lena, I'd like to off–"

At that moment, Professor McGonagall came running into the courtyard. "Remus!" she exclaimed. "There you–" She broke off when she noticed Lena's presence. She looked between the Defense teacher and the Head Girl for a moment, clearly confused.

"What's the matter, Minerva?" asked Lupin, who had hurriedly stood at the Deputy Headmistress' entrance. Lena copied the motion.

McGonagall decided to ignore the oddness of finding Lupin and Lena alone in the courtyard at night, and turned her full attention back to Lupin. "It's the Fat Lady," she told him worriedly. "She's been attacked."

Lena's eyes widened in shock. She knew the Fat Lady's portrait was the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. So if someone had attacked her, that must have meant someone was trying to force their way into it.

Lupin's expression was equally stunned. "By who?"

It would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but Lena was quick enough to catch a flicker of sadness in McGonagall's eyes before she answered Lupin.

"She's saying it was Sirius Black," said McGonagall gravely, "and we think he may still be in the castle."

If Lupin hadn't been there, then Lena's first thought may have been about the fact that Black was her mother's cousin, and wondering whether anyone else would bring up that connection.

But the moment McGonagall had said "Sirius Black", Lupin's expression had changed, and Lena's focus was entirely on that.

Because she knew that expression. She knew that conflict written on his face – those simultaneous feelings of anger, pain and longing.

It was what she felt every time she thought of Voldemort.

* * *

During all his classes the next day, Remus found it difficult to concentrate. And it wasn't helping that all anyone could talk about was Sirius Black's attack on the Fat Lady.

As his students of the final class of the day filed out of the classroom at the end of the lesson, Remus began picking up everything he needed off his desk in order to take it back into his office. Often, after he finished his classes for the day, Remus would go to the staffroom for a chat. But not today.

Minerva, Filius, Pomona, all the teachers who had taught him while he was a student here – they all knew how close he had once been to Sirius. And ever since news of the attack broke last night, they had been looking at him piteously. And then, on the opposite end of the spectrum, was Snape, who had taken every chance he could to imply that Remus was in league with the escaped convict.

The door shut behind the last student, and Remus began to climb the small staircase that led up to his office. But then the door swung open again, and there stood Lena.

"Do you have a moment, sir?" she asked.

Remus walked over to the nearest student desk and put his stuff down. "Of course," he said, pulling up two chairs and sitting down in one. He gestured to the other. "Have a seat."

Lena shut the door behind her and sat opposite Remus. When she didn't immediately say anything, Remus took the opportunity to speak first.

"I'm glad you came," he said. "It gives me a chance to finish asking you what I'd wanted to last night."

Although Lena nodded, Remus got a sense she wasn't properly listening to him. Rather than looking at him, she appeared to be _studying_ him. Her hair was out today, and she had pulled one of the long tresses to the front, twirling it around two fingers.

Remus cleared his throat, a little unnerved. "So, was there something else you wanted to ask," he said, trying to hide his discomfort, "or did you just want to finish our discussion from last night?"

Lena continued to study him. Then she said, "Did you know Sirius Black is my cousin?"

There was nothing accusatory in the way she asked it. At most, there was a mild interest in her tone.

"Yes," replied Remus, after a moment's hesitation.

Slowly, Lena nodded once. "My first cousin, once removed," she said, apparently deciding this needed further elaboration. Her manner was incredibly offhand, with the exception of her eyes, which were holding an intimidating intensity.

"Yes," said Remus again, unsure of what else there was to be said.

"I was incredibly curious about him, you know," said Lena casually. "When I was a little kid, I mean. He was one of the few members of my extended family I never met. But he was talked about, occasionally." At this point, Lena finally let go of her hair. She slightly tilted her head to the side, and her voice became less airy. "Mostly, they talked about how he had dishonoured the family name." She smiled wryly. "How he was the shame of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

A muscle twitched in Remus' face, as a pang shot through his body. The sardonic way she had said the full, 'official' title of the Black family, was eerily identical how to Sirius had always said it.

"They called him," continued Lena, "a Blood Traitor, and for that _terrible_ offense, he was disowned, his name blasted off the Black family tapestry. So you can imagine my surprise when it turned out that he was an even more fervent and loyal follower of Lord Voldemort than anyone else in my family."

It was the second time he'd heard her use Voldemort's name – a choice he found quite surprising. But all he replied was, "Yes, I can imagine."

Then Lena said something completely unexpected. "But you don't have to imagine, do you? Because surely, my surprise would have been _nothing_ compared to your shock that your friend wasn't who you thought he was."

Remus stood up so suddenly that his chair fell back. He stared down at Lena, stunned.

She was sitting with her legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap, and looking up at Remus, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. She was so poised – the exact opposite of how Remus now felt.

After what was only about ten seconds – but seemed like an hour – of silence, Remus quietly asked, "How did you know?"

"That you used to be friends?" She became more earnest . "Your expression when Professor McGonagall said his name."

Remus frowned. He righted his chair, and sat down again. "You could tell that just from the look on my face?"

"I recognise that look." Now, Lena lost some of that poise. She was visibly struggling with something. Her fingers twitched in her lap, and she shifted in her seat.

"Explain," said Remus simply, crossing his arms and leaning back.

Lena looked down at her lap for a few seconds, then back at Remus. "You want to hate him," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "you really want to, but you just – _can't_."

Remus stared at her. She had leant forward, and was looking at him so imploringly, like she was begging him to _understand_.

"Go on," he said quietly, unable to tear his eyes from her.

"You know what he's done is unforgiveable," said Lena, her voice beginning to slightly shake, "but you owe him. Because he was there for you, when he could have easily turned away like everyone else."

Memories of all the full moons that Sirius had stayed with him, keeping him company – keeping him _sane_ – flashed through Remus' mind. After Hogwarts, during the war, James and Peter had sometimes struggled to be there for his transformations – family commitments, work for the Order – but Sirius, until that last year when Dumbledore had sent Remus away to work undercover, had been there every time.

"You can be angry at him," continued Lena, the sadness in her eyes unmistakable now. "Be furious. You want to hurt him. You want revenge. But you can't hate him, not ever. Because he was _kind_ ," she finished, her voice cracking.

Remus looked down at his hands. They were trembling. Desperate to stop their shaking, he clenched them into fists, the knuckles going white. He turned his gaze back to Lena. She was staring at him with something he'd not seen in her eyes before – _compassion_.

He swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump that was forming in his throat. "You really do know that look."

She half-smiled. "Professor," she said softly, "I _know_."

Remus desperately wanted to know who it was that Lena felt that way towards. It couldn't have been one of her parents – whenever she mentioned them, she sounded so emotionless, so distant to them. Another family member, perhaps? One of the Death Eaters? He didn't think it was another student–

Then it struck Remus. She didn't just mean she knew how he felt about Sirius.

She _knew_.

He tensed, and quietly asked, "How long?"

"Since the moment I first saw you on the Hogwarts Express."

Remus furrowed his brow. "I don't understand. How could you know so quickly?"

"Quite easily. The scars on your face were obviously inflicted by a species of magical creature, and some are older than others, so you must have sustained them over a period of time, rather than in a single attack. The greying of the hair around your temples is clearly premature, as are the lines starting to form around your eyes, because the rest of your appearance suggests you're in your mid-thirties, at most. That's an indication you frequently experience severe stress. Your clothes are fraying and have been mended numerous time, instead of buying new ones, which implies you don't have the money to spare. A further clue that points to a precarious financial situation – which would suggest something has been preventing you from gaining steady employment – is that you actually accepted the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, which is widely regarded as one of the least desirable jobs in Wizarding Britain, due to the ridiculously high turnover rate, and the many cases of people leaving the position due to permanent injury. That Dumbledore offered you this position now, when faced with no applications for the position, suggests that he was confident in your ability, but aware there were other circumstances that could create difficultly, which he was only now willing to overlook as a consequence of desperately needing to fill the position. All of that points towards your affliction." Noticing Remus' astonishment, she shrugged. "I've spent seven summers in Knockturn Alley. I know a werewolf when I see one."

There was a pause.

Remus raised his eyebrows. "And it took you how long to figure all of this out?"

"About seven seconds."

"That is both impressive and a little frightening."

Lena smirked. "Story of my life, Professor."

Remus chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. Eventually, he said, "So you've known all this time, but still agreed to take private lessons from me?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because, as you so thoroughly pointed out a minute ago, I'm a _werewolf_."

She cocked her head. "When there isn't a full moon, do you ever get the urge to violently attack people?"

"No," said Remus firmly.

"Well, I do," said Lena bluntly, "and I'm not even a werewolf. So you're a better person than me. And speaking of private lessons, that's the other reason I came here."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Nervously, she began to play with her hair. "See, I was kind of hoping that after having this conversation, you might, well, understand me a little better, and trust me a little more, and, erm, put that offer of Patronus lessons back on the table."

Remus smiled. "Well, as it happens, I was going to ask you if you'd like to resume them last night, before Professor McGonagall interrupted us."

Lena's expression brightened. "Really?" Then a look of irritation crossed her face. "Wait, you mean I didn't actually have to come here today and be all bloody vulnerable and the rest of that shit to get back in your good books?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "No," he told her, "but I'm glad you did."

* * *

 **So there you have it, Chapter 23! Please let me know your thoughts, theories,** ** **criticisms** ; I'd really appreciate them :)**

 **Thank you for reading! I hope you stick around for all the chapters to come :)**


	24. One Step Back, One Step Forward

**Another double update! And only two weeks after the last! Whoo!  
**

 **A huge thank you to all the reviewers of the previous chapter, I really appreciated them :) I have some responses to them in the AN at the end of the chapter. And welcome to anyone who's only recently joined the readership of this story, I hope you enjoy what's to come!**

 **Without further ado: Chapter 24...**

* * *

 _Friday 5 November, 1993:_

It was the small conveniences that magic afforded one that Lena was desperately missing. Small conveniences such as being able to Summon a book off a shelf that was too high to reach manually.

Lena appraised the stack of shelves in front of her. They looked sturdy enough to hold her weight for a few seconds so she could grab _An Advanced Guide to the Demotic Script_ off the top shelf. She scanned the surrounding area of the library. Satisfied there was no one in close proximity who could observe her efforts, she quickly climbed onto the second bottom shelf, snatched her desired tome from its place, and jumped back off just before the stack of shelves started to topple over.

Steadying the bookshelf, Lena furtively looked around again, and sighed in relief. Her athletics had gone unnoticed. Which was good, because Lena couldn't think of a reasonable excuse to explain why she couldn't have just used magic to get the book – other than the truth, of course. But telling the truth was out of the question.

As she exited the aisle, Lena flicked through the book, pleased. It looked like it contained everything she needed to finish her Ancient Runes essay for next Monday. Entering the section of the library where the tables were situated, Lena saw that she need not have been so concerned about anyone seeing her climb the bookshelf; apart from Madam Pince, who was sitting at her desk, there was only one other occupant of the library. Lena checked her watch. That explained the emptiness – dinner had just started. She looked back at the table where the only other person was sitting.

It was Hermione Granger. Totally engrossed in her reading, she hadn't yet noticed Lena's presence. Mildly curious, Lena changed her direction slightly so she would pass closer to Hermione's table, in order to see what was holding the young Gryffindor's attention so completely.

When Lena saw the title of the book, she came to an abrupt halt.

It was called _Werewolves: The Monsters that Walk Amongst Us_.

Lena stared at Hermione, who was still unaware she was being watched.

' _Maybe she was just struck by a sudden desire to learn more about werewolves_ ,' thought Lena, but lacking conviction. Harry had told her that his Muggle-born friend was doing five electives, and Lena doubted that sort of workload allowed much time for reading for pleasure. But Harry had also told her that his Defence Against the Dark Arts class were supposed to be studying Hinkypunks after they finished their unit on Grindylows. So what reason would Hermione have for researching lycanthropy, other than being suspicious of a certain teacher who happened to be a werewolf?

Resolved to find out what Hermione actually knew, Lena walked over to her table and dropped her Ancient Runes book on it with a _thud_. Hermione started at the sound, and upon seeing Lena standing opposite her, the girl's brown eyes widened even further.

"Hello," said Lena, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

"Erm," said Hermione hesitantly, "hello."

Lena pointed at the book in Hermione's hands. "You know that's a load of bullshit, right?"

Hermione glanced down at the book, then back at Lena, confused. "Sorry?"

" _Werewolves: The Monsters that Walk Amongst Us,"_ said Lena, as scornfully as she could. She'd looked through the book about five years previously. "The author's massively prejudiced because his older sister was killed by one. He's more concerned about demonising anyone who suffers from lycanthropy than actually learning about the condition."

Hermione frowned. "But it was among Professor Snape's recommended reading for our essay."

"Snape?" Now it was Lena's turn to be confused. "What on earth are you doing in Potions that requires knowledge of werewolves?"

"It's not for Potions," explained Hermione. "Professor Snape took our Defence Against the Dark Arts class today, and he set us an essay on recognising and killing werewolves."

Lena's eyes narrowed. "Did he now?" she said, and pursed her lips. It was a full moon tonight, so that explained why Lupin might not have been well enough to teach his classes. But she seriously doubted that Snape had been teaching the class whatever work Lupin had intended for them to do.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. We were supposed to be starting Hinkypunks today, but–"

"But Snape had his own lesson plan," Lena finished, disturbed. It was no secret amongst the school that Snape intensely disliked Lupin, but what Hermione was telling her implied that this was more than just professional jealousy. An essay on how to recognise werewolves – it sounded like Snape was hoping that someone might put two and two together, and make Professor Wolfie McWolf-Face. So Snape didn't just dislike Lupin: he _hated_ him.

' _We should make a club,'_ thought Lena wryly. ' _Him, Harry and me – we could have badges and everything._ '

Well, she would definitely tell Lupin about Snape going rogue with his Third Year classes when she saw him on Sunday afternoon for her first resumed Patronus lesson. She wondered how he would take it. Would he be furious with Snape? He certainly had a right to be.

Lena looked at Hermione closely. Had she figured it out yet? Her eyes flicked down to the various sheets of parchment spread in front of Hermione, trying to catch any writing that indicated she had. Instead, her attention was caught by something else: a timetable.

She may have been reading upside down, but on one day, it very clearly said:

 _9:00am, Divination._

 _9:00am, Muggle Studies._

 _9:00am, Arithmancy._

And so on. In fact, it was a similar story for every day.

For a moment, Lena stared at Hermione, absolutely perplexed.

Then it hit her.

"Bloody hell," breathed Lena, amazed. "Did they give you a Time-Turner?"

Hermione's jaw dropped, and she clutched at her neck. "W-what?" she stammered. "N-no, I don't know what–"

Lena waved her hand impatiently. "Yes, yes, you're not allowed to tell anyone, I get it. Let's just pretend we're talking hypothetically, then."

Hermione bit her lip, and looked around the library cautiously. Confirming that it was still just them – and Madam Pince, who was quite a distance away – she gave Lena a small nod, and said, "All right, yes. How did you know?"

Lena gestured to Hermione's timetable. "It's the only logical explanation as to how you could be attending all your classes. And the teachers like and trust you enough to believe you'd behave responsibly with a Time-Turner – just using it for your studies, I mean."

Absentmindedly pulling at the chain around her neck – on which she wore the Time-Turner, Lena supposed – Hermione stared at Lena, seemingly trying to decide upon something. At last, she hesitantly asked, "Have you... have you ever used one?"

"I wish," said Lena enviously. "I mean, I did try to nick one from this Croatian witch when I was nine, but my aunt caught me before I could get it out of her house."

Hermione's expression was torn between disapproving and fascinated. "Why did you want a Time-Turner when you were nine?"

Lena quirked an eyebrow. "Who doesn't want _literally_ more time?"

' _Especially when you've only got a limited amount of it left,_ ' she added silently. Subconsciously, she touched her chest.

Not that a Time-Turner would actually give her more time to live. Every hour obtained from a Time-Turner was an hour from one's own life.

"But," she continued aloud, "in all honestly, it's probably a good thing I didn't get to keep it back then." She smiled drily. "Unlike you, I certainly would have behaved very irresponsibly with it." She glanced at her watch and stood up. "Anyway, dinner must be well under way. Shall we head to the Hall?"

Hermione shifted in her seat awkwardly. "Oh, erm–"

It dawned on Lena. "You're in there now, aren't you?"

"I was, yes," said Hermione. "I mean, I am."

Lena smiled. "I, however, am confined by the regular laws of time." She picked up her book from the table. "So I'll be heading off." About to turn around, she paused, remembering what was happening the next day. "Wish Harry the best of luck from me for the game tomorrow, won't you?"

Hermione nodded, returning the smile. "I will." Just as Lena started to walk off, she spoke again. "Er, Lena?"

"Yes?"

Hermione held up _Werewolves: The Monsters that Walk Amongst Us_. "Is it really all rubbish?" she inquired.

Lena ran a hand through her hair, sighing. "Look," she told Hermione truthfully, "it'll help you write an essay about recognising and killing werewolves. But if you want to _understand_ werewolves, you should look elsewhere."

"Like where?"

It was a struggle for Lena to keep a straight face. ' _Well, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office would be a good place to start_.'

* * *

 _Saturday 6 November, 1993:_

The Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch game had been going for over three hours, and there still didn't appear to be an end in sight. Not that there was much in _sight_ anyway, what with the huge storm that had struck Hogwarts.

Lena was sitting in the top left corner of the Slytherin stands, which were only about twenty-five percent full today due to the weather, and also the fact that their team wasn't playing. She was soaked to the bone, but was doing her best to look as though she didn't mind so as not to raise any questions of why she wasn't using a water-repelling charm.

She squinted at the Hufflepuff end of the pitch. It was hard to make out, but she thought it looked like that Gryffindor was about to score again. She was proved correct as seconds later Lee Jordan, the Quidditch commentator, barely audible over the heavy rain and thunder, announced, "And Spinnet gets her sixth for the match! Gryffindor leads Hufflepuff one-hundred-and-thirty to thirty!"

Lena scanned the grey sky for Harry. This was by far the longest match he'd ever played; he was usually quite quick to catch the snitch. She pushed off the wet hair that had escaped her plait and was sticking to her face, as her eyes focused on a broom that was just hovering above the rest of the game. Was that Harry? Why wasn't he moving–

Gasps from some nearby Slytherin spectators drew Lena's attention from the sky. They were pointing at something on the ground. Lena followed their gaze, then froze.

Dementors, dozens of them, were encircling the pitch.

 _'I have to get out of here_ ,' thought Lena desperately, clutching her heart. She stood up so quickly it made her dizzy, and she almost fell back into her seat. Hurriedly, she made her way to the stairs, and had to tightly grip the rails as she descended.

' _Please don't do anything,'_ she silently begged the magic inside of her. ' _Just let me feel the same fear and hopelessness everyone else does. Don't fight back, please don't fight back.'_

A sudden pain shot through her, and Lena cried out, almost missing the next step. She stopped, shutting her eyes and clinging to the rails.

Lena hadn't noticed the Orb's magic working on the Hogwarts Express. But now that she was trying to fight back against it, she could. And it hurt.

Opening her eyes, she staggered the rest of the way down the stairs. By the time she reached the ground, she was barely managing to keep herself upright. Her head ached, her stomach felt queasy, and the pain in her chest was steadily increasing.

' _I need to stop it,'_ Lena told herself frantically. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Dementors. At least a hundred of them. ' _I have to stop them_ ,' she decided.

Lena didn't notice how uneven her steps were as she set off in the direction of the castle, or how her whole body swayed as she walked. Her mind was fixed on a single thought.

' _I need to learn the Patronus Charm_.'

She didn't even notice that the rain was no longer pelting her as she walked through the Entrance Hall.

' _I need to learn the Patronus Charm._ '

And she didn't remember, as she stumbled though the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, that it had been a full moon the previous night, and that Professor Lupin was still recovering from his transformation.

' _I need to learn the Patronus Charm._ '

She climbed the small staircase to Lupin's office, and grabbed the door handle, attempting to turn it. But it wouldn't budge. The door was locked.

Lena fumbled for her wand. But as she pulled it out, one other thought took shape in her mind.

' _You can't use any other magic_.'

Nodding to herself, she stuffed the wand back in her pocket. That was right, she couldn't use any other magic, only the Patronus Charm.

' _That's why I have to learn it_.'

So she began to knock on the door. Knocking that soon turned into banging.

"Professor Lupin?" Lena called out, leaning on the door as her fist slammed it again and again. "Professor? Professor!"

"Professor! I need to talk to you! Professor Lupin?"

* * *

Remus' eyes fluttered open. Someone was calling out for him. Starting to push himself up, he winced. His entire body was still sore from the transformation.

"Professor!"

Somebody was pounding on the door – not his bedroom door, but the one to his office. Although his body protested, Remus sat up. He moved to the edge of his bed, grabbing his wristwatch off the bedside table. It was just after two o'clock in the afternoon.

"Sir, I need you now!"

Remus blinked, finally recognising the voice. It was Lena's.

Pushing himself off the bed, Remus stumbled to the door. About to open it, it occurred to him that he should probably put some clothes on before talking to Lena.

"Just a minute!" he called out, scrambling for his pyjama pants and a white t-shirt. Pulling them on, he grabbed his wand, flung open the bedroom door and staggered across his office. Unlocking the door, he yanked it open, only to be almost knocked over as a body crashed into him. Just managing to maintain his footing, he took a step back while retaining a firm hold on the body's shoulders.

"Lena, what's–"

"I need to learn the Patronus Charm. Now."

Remus stared at Lena in shock, properly registering her appearance. She was so thoroughly bedraggled she looked as though she'd just climbed out of the Great Lake. But what he found more concerning was the manic expression on her face.

"Merlin, Lena," he said worriedly, "what's happened?"

"Nothing's happened," she replied oddly, taking a step back so she was out of his reach. "I just need a Patronus lesson right now."

Remus frowned. "But we're having one tomorrow afternoon–" he started to say, before being cut off by Lena.

"But I need one now." Her voice was trembling – as was, now Remus noticed, her hands.

"Lena, I think you should sit down," he told her, his hand reaching out for her shoulder.

But Lena took another step back, shaking her head wildly. "No, no. There's no time, I need a lesson now."

Remus eyed her anxiously. Lena usually looked quite sickly, but this was something far more than that. She seemed... delirious.

"I don't think you're in any state to attempt casting a Patronus," he said firmly. "Now, why don't we sit down," he indicated to his desk, "and you can tell me what's going on."

"No!" said Lena violently. "I have to learn the Patronus, I have to, or I'll... I'll..." She began to sway on her feet.

Remus quickly stepped forward, reaching out to her. "Lena, stop, you're not well."

But Lena shuffled back out of his grasp once again. "I know," she cried angrily, "and that's why I need to learn it!"

A frustrated noise escaped Remus. "You're not making any sense!"

"I just need you to teach me," pleaded Lena, still swaying. "Please, sir, you have to teach me." She attempted to take a step towards him, but started to keel over.

Remus' hands shot out to steady her, grabbing Lena around the waist. However, his left hand went lower than he'd intended, accidently pushing her jumper and shirt up and exposing the bare skin of her right hip. And upon seeing the skin, Remus' eyes widened.

Black veins were running up from her hipbone, disappearing under her jumper.

"Shit," he murmured, momentarily forgetting his position. "Lena, what the hell happened?"

Lena was clinging to his shoulders, looking up at him through fluttering eyelids. "Please," she whispered. "Please, I have to learn."

But Remus shook his head. "No, you _have_ to go to the hospital wing."

Lena tried to push herself away from him, but began to fall backwards. Remus slipped his arms around her middle in an effort to keep her upright. Her body was starting to go limp.

He had to take her to the hospital wing. But how? She was almost unconscious, and he was still too weak from his transformation to carry her there. Maybe he could Conjure a stretcher...

Remus slowly lowered Lena to the ground. She was trying to say something, but her words were slurred and unintelligible.

Had she been poisoned? Cursed? Going by those black veins, Dark magic had to be involved. There was no time to dwell on the matter, he had to get her to Madam Pomfrey as quickly as possible. Lying Lena on the floor, he turned around to go back into his bedroom and grab his wand.

He was distracted, however, by the sound of the classroom door slamming open. Sticking his head out of the office, he was stunned to see Dumbledore striding towards him. Stunned, but relieved.

"Headmaster," Remus called out to him, "thank Merlin you're here. It's Lena, I think she's been–"

"She's in your office?" Dumbledore's response was surprisingly curt.

Remus nodded. "Yes." He glanced over at the girl. She was still semi-conscious, and attempting to push herself off the floor and stand up. "But something's happened to her, Albus."

Dumbledore ascent of the stairs was swift, and he didn't seem at all surprised by Lena's condition as he entered Remus' office. He knelt beside the girl, and murmured something to her that Remus didn't catch.

"I was just about to take her to the hospital wing before you arrived," explained Remus, gazing at Lena anxiously.

"There's no need."

Remus looked at Dumbledore, confused. "But Headmaster, she–"

"I will handle the situation from here," said Dumbledore firmly. He held his forearm out to Lena, who had just managed to kneel. She grasped the proffered arm, and Dumbledore pulled her to her feet. But she was still unsteady, and her eyes were unfocused.

Clearly, she was seriously ill.

"I really think Madam Pomfrey should examine–" he started to tell Dumbledore, but was promptly cut off.

"I said I will take care of this, Remus." There was a stern authority in Dumbledore's voice and expression that Remus had not seen since the War.

Dumbledore placed one of Lena's arms around his shoulders, and took a firm hold of her waist. They started to make their way out of the office.

"Please, Albus," said Remus desperately, "what's wrong with her?"

At the top of the stairs, Dumbledore paused and looked back at Remus. "I am sure Lena appreciates your concern, Remus. But right now, you are unwell yourself. I suggest you go back to bed," he looked pointedly at Remus' pyjamas, "and get some more rest, so you feel up to taking classes on Monday." He turned his attention back to Lena, who was blankly staring at the ground. "Can you manage these steps?" he murmured to her. Lena slowly nodded, and she and the headmaster began to descend the staircase.

Clenching his fists, Remus watched the pair exit the classroom, feeling deeply uneasy. Dumbledore had evidently been expecting to find Lena ill. What did he know that Remus didn't?

For half-an-hour, Remus lay on his bed, half-heartedly attempting to go back to sleep. He was exhausted, but every time he shut his eyes, all he could see was the delirious Lena. It was those black veins in particular that were troubling him. He'd never seen anything like them before.

' _I have to know_ ,' he thought, sitting up. ' _I have to find out what's wrong_.' Obviously, Dumbledore had no intention of telling him anything, so he'd have to figure it out himself. And that meant researching.

Ten minutes later, he was dressed and on his way to the library. Hopefully, some books would be there that could help him.

Entering the library, it occurred to Remus that he wasn't exactly sure of what section to browse. Something on Dark curses? Poisons? Magical maladies?

"Are you in need of assistance?"

Remus jumped a little. He hadn't noticed that Madam Pince was sitting at her desk, a little to his left.

"Er, thank you, yes," he said, moving closer to her. "You see, I'm looking for–" he paused, wondering how to explain it. He felt a little nervous under Madam Pince's suspicious gaze, remembering far too many occasions as a student where James or Sirius had done something stupid and got them all banned from the library for a week. He was quite sure she remembered all those times just as clearly.

Eventually, Remus came up with a believable and innocent enough story. "There was something I came across in a book I was reading," he lied. "It mentioned a case of illness that had afflicted a witch, and one of the symptoms were these black veins appearing on her torso. But it didn't go into much detail, so I was hoping..." he trailed off. When he had said 'black veins', Madam Pince had blanched. "Is something wrong?" he asked tentatively.

Madam Pince looked incredibly tense. "Did only the veins turning black," she asked tightly, "or were other body parts affected?"

Remus furrowed his brow. "Such as?"

"The inside of the mouth and the whites of the eyes."

"No," said Remus, "just the veins around," he gestured to his stomach and hips, "here. Why do you ask?"

Madam Pince stared at him for a few seconds, before glancing around cautiously. Apparently satisfied there were no students within hearing range, she leaned closer to Remus, who subconsciously copied her movement.

"Professor Lupin," she said quietly, "have any of the staff mentioned a girl named Lenora Travers to you?"

* * *

When Lena woke up in Dumbledore's office, she was lying on a sofa she didn't recall occupying it before. She looked around the office, confused and struggling to remember how she'd gotten there. The last thing she clearly recalled was sitting in the stands watching the Quidditch game.

' _Then there were Dementors_ ,' she remembered. Yes, at least a hundred Dementors had shown up and she'd left the pitch as quickly as she could. She had vague memories of returning to the castle and going to...

Lena cringed as flashes of her conversation – if one could call it that – with Lupin emerged in her mind. How the hell was she supposed to explain what happened the next time she saw him?

Then Dumbledore had thankfully shown up and whisked her away. It must have been at some point while they were heading to his office that Lena had finally slipped into a totally unconscious state.

Wondering how long she'd been out, Lena checked her watch. It was a quarter-to-midnight, so it had been over ten hours since she'd been at the Quidditch pitch. Ten hours since...

In a sudden movement, Lena pulled her jumper and shirt up, and looked at her stomach and hips. For the first since she'd woken up, she felt sick again.

The black veins, which only this morning had reached to just above her navel, now spread down to her hipbone. Urgently, she pulled down the collar of her jumper. It was difficult to see without a mirror, but it looked like the veins now also reached up to her collarbone. A violent shudder ran through Lena's whole body as she understood the implications of this.

"Lena."

Dumbledore had entered through a door at the back of his office, which Lena suspected led to his private rooms. He looked simultaneously relieved and concerned upon seeing her awake.

"It's grown," said Lena hollowly.

Dumbledore took a seat on the sofa next to the hunched over Lena. "I know," he said quietly. "I apologise for the intrusion, but I checked after bringing you up here."

Lena buried her face in her hands. "How long?"

Her voice was muffled, but Dumbledore understood. "We would need another blood test to confirm it," he said, "but I suspect you lost an entire year, maybe two, today. "

Lena looked back up at the headmaster, dejected. "I tried to stop it, I really did," she told him.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Yes, and I expect that is, in part, what made you so ill."

"What was the other part?"

"That your body used magic after going without it for so long," explained Dumbledore. "It has been, what, six weeks?"

"Seven," replied Lena immediately. "Seven weeks and one day." She subconsciously traced her collarbone with a finger. "Is it also because the poison is now spreading far enough through my body that it's starting have a more physical and... volatile... effect?"

"I suppose that is quite likely too," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. He peered through his spectacles at her, as though inspecting her. "How are you feeling now?"

Lena shrugged. "Physically? Well, I'm not delirious anymore, and I'm not feeling any pain, so I guess I'm fine."

Dumbledore didn't bother to clarify how she was emotionally. After all, he didn't need to be explicitly _told_ that losing another year of her life was making her feel like shit. As one of the smartest wizards in the world, he could probably figure that out himself.

* * *

Lena felt extremely anxious as she made her way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom the next afternoon. She had been nervous about resuming Patronus lessons in any case, but after her encounter with the Defence Professor the previous day, that had been heightened to an alarming degree.

She was hoping to brush off the incident, but deep down she knew that hope was in vain. One thing she had learnt about Lupin was that he could be incredibly persistent about finding out the truth. Also, he seemed to be a quite naturally curious person.

Which were both qualities that Lena would usually admire. But it was a little difficult to appreciate them when they were being directed towards her.

' _On the other hand,_ ' thought Lena, ' _he is pretty understanding. So it's possible that if I just tell him it's a very personal matter, he might respect that and back off_.'

Yes, that was her best bet, she decided. Besides, when she told him about what Snape had been teaching his Third Year classes on Friday, that might completely draw his attention away from her health.

Reaching the classroom, she took a deep breath, preparing herself before pushing open the door. But when she entered, she was surprised to see that Lupin wasn't waiting for her. She checked her watch; she was right on time.

' _We haven't met at this time before,_ ' reasoned Lena. ' _Maybe he forgot the specific time_.'

Deciding to check if he was in his office, she quickly crossed the classroom, climbed up to the door, and knocked lightly on it. There was no response.

"Professor Lupin?" she called out, but was only met by silence.

She tried the door handle, and was surprised to find it was unlocked. Tentatively, she opened the door, and was greeted by the sight of Lupin slumped over his desk, sleeping. Books and sheets of parchment were strewn around him.

Lena frowned. From what she'd seen of his office before, Lupin wasn't the neatest of people, but this seemed unusually messy, even for him. It looked like he had fallen asleep in the midst of some fairly intense researching.

Her curiosity aroused, Lena came a little further into his office, but Lupin still didn't stir. Approaching his desk as quietly as she could, Lena noted, surprised, that the books surrounding Lupin were all about the Dark Arts – which shouldn't have been shocking, considering what he taught, but these particular books were covering the Darkest of subjects. There was certainly nothing or at least very little in them concerning the Hogwarts curriculum.

Reaching his desk, Lena noticed that Lupin's head was resting on an open book, completely covering one page. But the opposite page was clearly visible.

Lena froze. There was one illustration on the visible page. A black sphere.

It was entitled 'Hecate's Orb'.

* * *

As Remus' eyes fluttered open, he became aware that his cheek was pressed against something that was decidedly _not_ a pillow. It was much harder. He also became aware that he was not lying down, but rather sitting and bent over something.

He blinked a few times, trying to gage his surroundings.

 _'My office_ ,' he thought. ' _I must have fallen asleep at my desk._ '

As he slowly began to sit up, his back, protesting at the undesirable position it had been forced into as he slept, made a loud _crack_. Remus winced.

"You know, if we keep going at this rate, there aren't going to be any secrets left between us."

The voice of someone else in his office made Remus sit up a lot faster.

It was Lena. She was standing in the corner of the office, watching the Grindylow in its tank.

Remus stared at her, his brain trying to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. Finally, the memories of the previous day clicked into place. He looked down at his desk. His head had been resting on an open book. It was the one, Remus remembered, that had what he thought might be the answer.

Then he finally registered what Lena had said. He swallowed. "Do you mean... do you mean that this is... right?"

At last, Lena turned away from the tank and looked at him. Her lips were drawn into a tight line, and despite the levity of her tone just moments ago, Remus knew that if he didn't approach this subject carefully, he was in trouble.

"Yes," said Lena quietly, "the root of my... _illness_... is Hecate's Orb."

Remus stood up and slowly approached her. He stopped a few feet away from Lena and crossed him arms. "And Lenora Travers?" he inquired. "That was the Orb too?"

Lena smiled mirthlessly. "Ah, so _that's_ what put you on the right track." She tilted her head slightly, looking at him appraisingly. "I'm impressed. Even Dumbledore didn't figure it out himself."

Remus frowned. "So how did he find out?"

"Because I told him."

"Why?"

Lena started to twirl a lock of hair around her index finger. "Let's just say there was an exchange of information."

Remus continued to stare at Lena, unsure of how to proceed.

Madam Pince's story of Lenora Travers had come as quite a shock to Remus – especially the fact that many people, including staff members, suspected that Lena was the culprit. But the part that was of particular interest to him were the black veins found on Travers. Apparently, the official story was that Travers had accidently poisoned herself after trying to create her own version of Liquid Luck – but Remus was certain that wasn't what Lena had done, and surely both afflictions had to be related.

Remus hadn't known of any curse or poison that caused such a condition. But Lena, he had come to realise, was exceptionally knowledgeable of the Dark Arts –more so than the majority of the staff. So the most likely scenario, Remus had thought, was that Lena had attacked with Travers with some kind of Dark magic, perhaps originating from a Dark object. However, it must have partially backfired on her, and now the same thing that had happened to Travers was happening to Lena – but at a much slower rate.

Bearing that all in mind, Remus had thanked Madam Pince for telling him the story and had gone straight to the Restricted Section, looking for books on only the most powerful, Darkest magic. He had found half-a-dozen or so that looked like they could potentially be of use, and brought them back to his office. Then he had started reading them all, cover to cover. Although he had still been exhausted from his transformation, he had read all through the night and into the early hours of the morning. He had been barely able to keep his eyes open by the time he was on the last book.

And there it had been. Two pages on the ancient Greek sorceress Hecate. Remus, as a keen student of Defence Against the Dark Arts, had come across her before in his readings, but as far as he knew, there wasn't that much concrete information available on her. He had heard of the Orb before, on a list of the most powerful legendary magical artefacts –he hadn't known, however, that it was definitely a real thing.

The book said that Hecate had used the Orb, among other purposes, to kill her enemies. And her victims' bodies were found covered in black veins.

It was almost unbelievable that Lena could have got her hands on an artefact of such immense power.

Almost.

Remus finally settled on a question to ask her. "Was it an accident?"

Lena shrugged, continuing to play with her hair. "Attacking Travers? Well, I suppose you could say I wasn't entirely in my right mind."

"So you didn't mean to do it?"

"That's not what I said."

Remus rubbed his temples tiredly. This was all quite overwhelming. He could feel that Lena was watching him closely, trying to gage what he was thinking.

He sighed, and asked, "Can you fix her?"

"No."

"Because you don't know how?"

"Because I don't have the means to."

Remus' forehead creased in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Lena finally let go of her hair, and folded her arms. "In order to undo it, I would need the Orb. But it's no longer in my possession. I didn't even have it when I attacked Travers."

This only further perplexed Remus. "But then how–"

"Why don't I just tell you the whole story?" interrupted Lena. "From beginning to end. It's the only way to properly understand." She walked over to the chair in front of his desk.

Remus cocked his head. "Why?"

Lena arched an eyebrow. "Why what?" she asked, sitting down.

"Why tell me anything?" said Remus, spreading his hands. "Why even confirm my theory? You said you told Dumbledore as an 'exchange of information'. But what do you want from me?"

For a few moments, Lena simply stared at him. Once again, she began twisting her hair around a finger. Remus got the sense she did it whenever giving something careful consideration. Then she bit her lip and, at last, spoke.

"I'm telling you," she said quietly, "because you cared enough to look for answers."

Neither said anything for about ten seconds. Then Remus reclaimed his seat behind the desk.

"All right," he said, "so how exactly does this story begin?"

* * *

Lena found it surprisingly easy to tell her story to Lupin. He was a good listener; attentive, but not intrusive. Obvious reactions were minimal, but when Lena finally explained that she was incurably ill, and had fewer than ten years to live, horror was evident in his eyes.

"So what happened yesterday – that's going to become a more frequent occurrence?" he asked after she'd finished.

"Possibly," replied Lena. "Well, certainly if I get close to that many Dementors again." She looked at Lupin earnestly. "Do you now understand why it's so important for me to learn the Patronus Charm?"

Lupin nodded slowly. "It will stop the Orb's magic from taking it upon itself to protect you, which is necessary because–"

"–Because what the Orb's magic thinks is protecting me is actually killing me," finished Lena. "And also," she added as an afterthought, "it's the only spell I'm actually allowed to cast, and it really sucks that it's the one I _can't_ do."

"Now I understand why the difficulty you were having with it upset you so much," commented Lupin.

Lena fidgeted uncomfortably. "Erm, actually, you were more right that night, when you thought it was because I'd just never not being able to do a spell before." She shrugged, blushing slightly. "It was a new experience for me and, well... I didn't like it."

Lupin's face twitched, and he covered his mouth. "I see," he said, his voice a little muffled.

Lena narrowed her eyes at him. It looked awfully like he was trying to stop himself from laughing.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asked suspiciously.

Lupin started to shake his head, but an amused noise escaped him. Giving up, he took his hand off his mouth. He was grinning. "Sorry," he apologised, without sounding like he really meant it. "But if that's really what sets you off, more than anything else..." He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. "Well, it's actually quite endearing."

Mortified, Lena stared down at her lap. He thought her throwing a tantrum about her incompetence was _endearing_?

But when she looked back up at Lupin, the smile had slipped off his face, replaced by a far graver expression.

"You say the healers at the IHO are searching for a way to cure you," he said softly, "but the way you're acting suggests you don't think they'll find one."

"What," asked Lena sceptically, "you think I should live in hope?"

Lupin leaned forward. "You don't?"

"I think that would be unwise."

"But the wizards and witches at the IHO are some of the finest minds–"

"I know," interrupted Lena. She sighed and drew her feet up to the edge of the seat and hugged her knees. "But believing that they could miraculously find a way to fix me in the next eight, nine years..." She shrugged helplessly. "That requires a hell of a lot of faith."

"So what, you don't allow yourself even a glimmer of hope?" asked Lupin. He sounded almost frustrated with her."Look, Lena, I never dreamed as a child that someday, someone would invent a way to prevent me from turning into a complete monster every full moon. But now I can take Wolfsbane, and when I transform, I don't have the slightest urge to attack anyone. It might not be a complete cure for lycanthropy, but it's certainly progress."

"But that's completely different," argued Lena. "Lycanthropy is an extremely well-documented condition because so many people have been affected over so many years. What's happening to me is totally uncharted."

"Then you're convinced you're going to die?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Lena, standing up. "Yes, I'm dying!"

"You told me that Dumbledore said reclaiming the Orb could save your life," Lupin pointed out.

"That's not happening," said Lena firmly.

Lupin looked incredulous. "You'd rather die than have the Orb again?"

"Of course I wouldn't," snapped Lena. "Do you have any idea of what I could accomplish if I had the Orb again? Hell, I'd want it back even if I wasn't dying, and I know that when I can count the days I have left on one hand, I will be begging for it. But I also know that if I ever get my hands on it again, then I will lose every ounce of humanity that I have struggled so hard to gain these last six years!" Her hands, which had been gesticulating wildly, were starting to shake. "You think you're a monster during the full moon? Believe me, that's nothing compared to what I'd become!"

Lupin began to rise from his chair. "Lena–"

"Would I rather die? No! I am _terrified_ of dying!" She clenched her fists to stop them trembling, and took a deep breath. "But with at least _some_ distance between now and when I die – however short that may be – I am far more afraid of who I'd be with the Orb." She closed her eyes, willing her whole body to stop shaking.

To her surprise, she felt a hand being lightly placed on her shoulder. She opened her eyes. Lupin was standing right in front of her, looking down at her concernedly. But he didn't say anything; he seemed to be waiting for Lena to calm herself down.

After about ten seconds, Lena felt sufficiently composed. "Thank you," she muttered.

Lupin inclined his head, removing his hand. Then he asked, "Apart from myself, Dumbledore and the IHO healers, who else knows of your... affliction?"

"No one."

That surprised Lupin. "Not even your aunt? You haven't told her?"

Lena snorted. "Why, so she can say, 'I told you to leave it alone'? No thanks."

Lupin looked like he wanted to respond that, but instead pursed his lips. After a pause, he asked, "And none of your friends either?"

' _What friends?'_ Lena almost replied aloud, but stopped herself just in time, and shook her head instead.

"And none of the teachers have realised you haven't used magic in nearly two months?" inquired Lupin, sounding slightly incredulous.

"Incredible, isn't it," replied Lena drily. "Seven weeks in a magic school, and nobody's noticed that I'm pretty much a Squib now." She looked pointedly at Lupin. "Not even you."

"In my defence, most of the time I've spent with you, you've been working on the one spell you actually _can_ do."

"You mean _allowed_ to do," corrected Lena. "Not _can_. Which reminds me – you're supposed to be giving me a Patronus lesson now."

Lupin blinked, and Lena could tell that he had completely forgotten why she'd actually visited him today.

"Of course," he said. "Well, shall we?"

They went into the classroom, and sat on two of the student desks in the front row.

Lupin gazed at Lena thoughtfully. "I have an idea," he said.

"I'm all ears."

"What if," he began, "instead of thinking in terms of happy or not, we think about your memories as positive or negative. For instance, let's say anything to do with the Orb is a negative, because it brought out a... _less than good_ version of yourself. Can you think of a moment where the opposite happened, where you had to be the best version?"

Lena considered this. "Just a moment?"

"It only has to be a few seconds, not a whole event."

The best version of herself. Lena bit her lip as a memory flashed in her mind.

 _Riddle stared at her, clearly perturbed. "You're not who I thought you were." He sounded disappointed and disgusted._

 _Lena_ _smiled at Riddle. "No. I'm better."_

 _Then with every ounce of strength she could muster, she threw the rock at the Basilisk's head._

"Yeah," Lena told Lupin. "I might have something."

Lupin gave her a small smile, and gestured for her to stand up. "Well, you know the words."

Standing up, Lena pulled her wand out of her pocket. She looked down at it, tracing her finger along the length. ' _I know you're struggling to see it,'_ she told it silently, ' _but amidst all that Dark magic, I am still there_.'

Then she firmly pointed it in front of her. Closing her eyes, she imagined she was right back in that moment in the Chamber of Secrets, making her decision.

She opened her eyes. " _Expecto Patronum_!" she cried.

A small silvery light streamed out of her wand and hung in the air for a few seconds before evaporating. Wide-eyed, Lena turned back to look at the Defence teacher. He was smiling.

"Well, would you look at that," remarked Lupin softly. "You're making progress."

* * *

 **There you have it, Chapter 24 :) Hope you all liked it!**

 **Just a few responses to reviews:**

 **vballnikig: In regards to Lena realising she'd been overreacting, thank you for letting me know how it read. I guess my intention was that in Lena's mind, her anger over her failure to cast the Patronus was completely proportionate - her problem was that she allowed Remus to see that anger, and subsequently that nastier side of herself. I hope that makes sense!**

 **Justmeesh33: I'm glad that you feel I've established Lena well enough to be able to tell what's true to her character or not :) As to your Sirius theory - it's a good point, and for me to comment any more might be entering spoiler territory...**

 **Clementsc1992: Welcome to the story! I'm really happy to hear that you think the canon characters sound right, because it's something I constantly worry about. And I'm glad you like Lena too :)**

 **And now, on to Chapter 25...**


	25. The Happiest Moment

_Saturday 18 December, 1993:_

 _'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way...'_

Lena flicked back to the book's cover, checking the author's name again.

Charles Dickens, it said.

' _Well, he sure knows how to write an opening line,'_ thought Lena approvingly. And coincidently, one that really struck a chord with her present situation.

The book in question was called _A Tale of Two Cities_ , and it was one of several muggle novels that Valeriya had sent Lena eleven days ago for her eighteenth birthday. It had been something of a bittersweet day – a relief that she had actually reached it, but also, without Maggie and Rolf to celebrate with her, a reminder of her self-imposed isolation.

Well, she was still seeing Harry every now and then, but she hadn't told him it had been her birthday. And then there was Professor Lupin...

It had been almost six weeks since she'd told him about the Orb and her illness, and since she'd first made any progress with the Patronus Charm. She'd had five lessons since then, and would be having her sixth that night. And while her Patronus was growing stronger, the development was tantalisingly slow. There had been barely any change in her efforts between her last lesson and the one prior to that. But although it was frustrating she still couldn't cast a corporeal Patronus, her ineptitude did give her a valid reason to spend an hour or two every week in the company of Lupin.

It surprised Lena how quickly she had grown to like the werewolf. With Maggie and Rolf it had been a slow, gradual shift from 'well, I don't find your presence irritating' to 'you know, I actually enjoy your company'. But ever since she'd spoken to Lupin in the courtyard on the night of Halloween, Lena had found herself eagerly awaiting each Patronus lesson. She liked talking to him. He was clever, well-read, and funny, in a dry sort of way. Most unusual, however, was that she just felt... comfortable, when she was with him. In fact, he reminded her of some of Valeriya's associates with who she'd gotten on very well as a child.

Except, of course, Lupin was much less morally ambiguous.

Lena's eyes flicked to her watch. It was ten o'clock in the morning.

' _Eleven hours to go_ ,' she thought, and vaguely wondered how much of the novel she could read before leaving for her Patronus lesson. ' _And lunch and dinner in the Hall,_ ' she reminded herself. It was the last day of term and also a Hogsmeade visit day, so the Great Hall would be relatively empty at lunchtime, and as Head Girl, she would be expected to be there for dinner that night. She grimaced at the thought of the potential social interaction she might had to endure.

In the end, lunch proved not to be a problem. Lena timed her visit to the Hall so that she wouldn't be there the same time as Tiffany and Eve – who, despite Lena's obvious attempts to avoid them, had not taken the hint and still regularly tried to accost her with questions about class work.

Dinner was a slightly different story.

The food had just appeared on the table when Gemma Farley plonked herself down opposite Lena.

"Hey," the Prefect greeted her, smiling.

Lena helped herself to some mashed potato, replying to Farley with an unenthusiastic, "Hi."

Much like Tiffany and Eve, Farley had not been discouraged by Lena's withdrawal of the offer to help her with homework, and had taken it upon herself to walk back to the Slytherin Dungeons with Lena after every Prefect meeting. She didn't seem to mind Lena's reluctance to participate in a conversation, happily filling in any silences with anecdotes of her week.

"So," said Farley cheerfully, "anything interesting lined up for the holidays?"

"Well, I'm staying here, so not really."

"Oh." Farley looked surprised. "Why?"

Lena shrugged. "Because I felt like it."

"You don't want to spend Christmas with family?" asked Farley. Lena gave her a withering look, and Farley immediately blushed. "Sorry," she mumbled, "that was, um, a bit tactless."

Instead of replying, Lena took a mouthful of potato.

An awkward silence ensued for a minute as they ate. Eventually it was broken by Farley.

"It's so weird not having you in Defence class, you know," she commented. "Sometimes, Lupin will ask a really difficult question, and all of us just turn to the back of the room where you used to sit, waiting for you to answer. Force of habit, I guess."

"Miss me, do you?"

"Yes." Her response was so quick and so earnest that it made Lena raise an eyebrow, flustering Farley yet again. "I mean, we all do," she said hurriedly. "All of us. You taught us so much last year."

Lena's brow creased. "But you're all learning a lot from Lupin, right?"

"Yes," admitted Farley, "but..." She bit her lip nervously. "But he's not _you_."

Now it was Lena's turn to fight back a blush. "Well, that's probably a good thing," she replied quickly, before looking down at her plate and jamming in another mouthful of food .

"It's not."

Lena almost choked. Her eyes flew back up to Farley, who suddenly looked mortified.

For a few seconds, an uncomfortable tension hung between them. Then Farley abruptly stood up, her cheeks red. "I just remembered," she said hastily, "I have to talk to Fakhir about, um, something." She stepped out from the bench and turned to leave.

Lena hurriedly swallowed her food. "Erm, Farley?"

"Yes?"

Lena pointed at Farley's still mostly-full plate with her fork. "Your food."

The brunette's face was flaming by this point. "Right." She hesitated, then awkwardly picked up her plate and cutlery, and walked as quickly as she could down the table to where Fakhir Kahn was sitting.

Lena glanced around to see if anyone else had witnessed their conversation, but it appeared, mercifully, that no one had. In any case, no one else approached Lena for the rest of dinner.

Later that evening, she made her way to the Defence classroom. Opening the door, she was surprised to find that Lupin wasn't there. Deciding to check if he was in his office, she was halfway up the small staircase when the classroom door opened again, and Lupin came hurrying in.

"Sorry," he called out to Lena, "I got caught up in the staffroom. Last day of term and all that."

"That's all right," said Lena, coming back down, "I only just got here."

She took her usual seat on a front row desk as Lupin shrugged off his robe and lay it over his desk's chair. Then, rolling up the sleeves of his well-worn knitted jumper, he joined Lena in the front row.

"How have you been this week?" Lupin asked her. "Any episodes today?"

Ever since the incident with the Dementors at the Quidditch pitch, Lena had been plagued with randomly occurring chest pains and crippling headaches – a symptom of the poison spreading further through her body. She, Lupin and Dumbledore had taken to calling these 'episodes', and they had been happening at least three or four times a week over the past month.

"Not today," answered Lena. "There was one yesterday morning that wasn't too bad. Or maybe it's just that I'm getting used to them."

He smiled sympathetically. "Well, it was a pleasant surprise to actually see you in the Hall for dinner."

Doing her best to hide her delight that he'd noticed she'd been there, Lena shrugged. "Well, Dumbledore's kind of cracked down on me in regards to eating meals in the kitchens," she explained. "He thinks that as the Head Girl, I shouldn't exclude myself from the rest of the student body so much."

"It's a fair point."

Lena smiled glumly. "I know. It's just hard, you know? Being surrounded by so many witches and wizards when I'm not allowed to use magic..." she trailed off, pulling out her wand and looking at it despondently.

"Lena," said Lupin softly, and she looked back up at him. "I think you're being incredibly brave."

Lena snorted. "Really? Because I've spent these last three months pretty much living in terror because I'm worried that someone's going to find out."

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "You know, a rather clever someone once said that there's nothing wrong with fear – it only becomes a problem when in the face of it, you do nothing," he said pointedly.

Hearing Lupin quote Lena's words back to her was oddly moving. And in the face of such sentiment, she could only take the piss out of it.

"Rather clever?" Lena grinned. "She sounds like a fucking genius to me."

Lupin chuckled, shaking his head at her. "I really should start deducting points for your bad language," he told her, sounding half-amused, half-exasperated.

"Whatever," said Lena, waving a hand dismissively. "It's not like any of the house points given out during the year matter, when precedent tells us that Harry will swoop in at the end, do something amazing, and win the cup for Gryffindor."

This seemed to amuse Lupin, but then his expression became a little more serious. "Speaking of Harry, has he spoken to you about the Patronus Charm at all?"

Lena nodded. "The day after what happened on the Hogwarts Express. I just told him the basics – that it's the most effective way of fighting off Dementors, that's it a very difficult spell to learn... and that it's something I can't actually do." She tried to remember what Harry had told her after he'd discussed the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch game with Lupin. "When was it you were going to start teaching him?"

"After the Christmas holidays," answered Lupin, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "So that's why he didn't approach you first about learning the Patronus. I was a little surprised when he came to me for help." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "And with that been said–"

"It's time to properly start our lesson?" guessed Lena.

Lupin smiled in response, and soon Lena was up on her feet, calling out " _Expecto Patronum_!" with all the conviction she could muster, and focusing hard on her most positive memory.

But although silver light flowed out of her wand again and again, it still wasn't enough to be a proper Patronus. After half-an-hour of no progress, Lena was once again becoming incredibly aggravated.

"I don't understand," she told Lupin angrily. "I'm doing everything right – what more can I do?"

Lupin, who had been watching her last attempt with a frown, sighed. "I don't know, Lena," he replied honestly. "Maybe there's just not enough behind that memory to take your Patronus any further."

Lena groaned in frustration. "But it's just about the most positive thing I've ever done!"

"I understand that," said Lupin patiently. "But perhaps it lacks a certain... _clarity..._ of emotion."

"What do you mean?"

"As I said in our first lesson, a Patronus generally requires a memory of _pure_ joy. Now, you've been making progress with a memory of when you felt you did the right thing, and that's excellent. But maybe, deep down, there is a negative emotion attached to it that is preventing you from taking the Patronus to the next level."

As soon as Lupin said this, Lena knew he was right. Saying no to Riddle had been the right thing to do, Lena knew that unequivocally. The problem was she also knew that it had taken far too long for her to come to that decision in the Chamber. As strong as the memory was, it was also tainted by guilt. And unfortunately for Lena, it was exceedingly difficult to find a moment in her life where she hadn't been plagued by guilt.

"Professor," she said quietly, "I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?" asked Lupin, looking puzzled.

"A proper Patronus." Lena spread her hands helplessly. "I think this is as good as it gets."

"Oh, come on, Lena–"

She cut him off. "No. I'm telling you, I don't have anything more to give."

Lupin crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Really, you're giving up? _Again_?"

"This spell," said Lena, starting to get annoyed, "was not designed for the use of everyone. It is literally impossible for some people to cast a Patronus, and I think I'm one of them."

"Nonsense," said Lupin dismissively. "You just think that because you're unaccustomed to struggling with anything."

Without meaning to, Lena raised her voice. "It is not _nonsense_ , it is a matter of fact! Some of us just haven't lived lives that provide the sort of memories one needs for a Patronus!"

A muscle twitched in Lupin's face. "Lena," he began to say, his voice sounding strained, "I understand that your childhood was less than ideal–"

"– _Less than ideal?!"_

"–But there are a lot of us," Lupin continued, ignoring Lena's indignant interjection, "who have experienced horror after horror in our lives, but still manage to cast corporeal Patronuses."

A small, angry noise escaped Lena. " _Argh_! No, you're not understanding what I'm saying!"

Lupin threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "Then what are you saying?"

"It's not about terrible things happening _to_ me, it's about me _doing_ terrible things!"

Lupin's voice became more sympathetic. "I know everything that happened with the Orb weighs heavily on your–"

"This isn't just about the Orb!" interrupted Lena heatedly. "Professor, I am _not_ a good person. And that might not be a problem for casting a Patronus, if it weren't for the fact that I _know_ I'm not a good person."

A tension crept back into Lupin's voice as he said, "You think I don't understand self-loathing, Lena? I'm a _werewolf_."

Lena lost it. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" she shouted. "Get over yourself! You didn't _choose_ to be a werewolf! Turning into a monster every full moon – that's not on you! Meanwhile, I've spent the last three months miserably failing at casting a Patronus, because–" A pang shot through Lena, and the next thing she knew, the words were tumbling out of her mouth: "Because the truth is I've known since the start that there is exactly one moment in my life where I felt truly happy!"

And before she could stop herself, Lena closed her eyes and let that one memory fill her entire mind. Then she pointed her wand into the centre of the room. " _Expecto Patronum!"_

* * *

Remus had to shield his eyes as a silver light flooded the room.

A Patronus. Not a corporeal one, but a shield that would certainly keep Dementors at bay.

A grin broke across Remus' face. Lena had done it.

After about ten seconds, the silver light faded away, and he turned to congratulate his pupil, only to find, to his bewilderment, a trembling Lena staring into the centre of the room, tears streaming down her face. Then a sudden, violent sob forced its way out of her, and she dropped to the floor.

At first, Remus could only stare at Lena, aghast. She was sitting on the floor, hunched over, and crying so much that her whole body shuddered. And the sight was so... _wrong_. Lena was supposed to be impenetrable. Full of fury, full of bitterness, full of frustration, but unbreakable. But now, she looked utterly broken, and the wrongness of it made Remus want to look anywhere _but_ Lena. Yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

"Lena?" he said softly, approaching her hesitantly.

In response, she only sobbed, her head bowed.

Remus knelt down next to her. "Lena," he tried again, "what's wrong?"

Still, she didn't reply. Her eyes were shut, and Remus wasn't even sure if she had heard him. She seemed completely overtaken by her distress.

He glanced down. Lena's shaking right hand, the one closest to him, was pressed against the floor. Wanting to comfort her, but not quite knowing how, he reached out and took the hand.

But the moment he did, everything went black. After a few seconds, a light cut through the darkness. Then everything came into focus, and it was like Remus was watching a moving picture.

 _Two people stood in the centre of a bedroom. One was a tall man in black robes, and opposite him was a little girl._

 _She couldn't have been any older than six, and was wearing a dark green dress and black tights. Her hair was long, wavy and black, and she was incredibly pale. And she was looking up at the man with her fiercely intelligent blue-grey eyes._

 _The man had red eyes._

 _At that moment, the man spoke. "And so another lesson comes to an end."_

 _"Why does it have to?" asked the young Lena, sounding slightly petulant. "Why can't they be longer?"_

 _The man laughed softly, before saying, "Maybe they will be in future. You see, it is quite likely that much will have changed by our lesson next Friday."_

 _"Like what?"_

 _"Let us just say that I believe we are about to enter something of a turning point in this war," said the man mysteriously._

 _Lena crossed her arms, clearly irritated by this vagueness._

 _The man evidently saw this, because he shook his head and said, "I promise to tell you more during our next lesson. Who knows, I might see you before that."_

 _Lena's face immediately brightened. "I'd like that," she said quickly. "I, I..." she hesitated, before rushing, "I wish I got to see you every day."_

 _This seemed to amuse the man. "Lessons every day? I dare not, you would probably surpass me by the time you were ten."_

 _"No," said Lena, looking down at the ground. "Not for lessons, I mean..."_

 _The man looked at her curiously_

 _"... Live with you." Her voice was barely above a whisper._

 _"You wish to come live with me?" the man said softly._

 _Lena finally looked up again, then slowly nodded. "I hate it here." Her voice grew stronger. " I hate living in the same house as_ her _. And you, you're... you're the best part of my week." She took a step towards him. "The best part of my life. I..." The final words spilled out of her as if she could no longer wait to say them: "I wish you were my father."_

 _At first, the man just looked down at her, his expression unreadable. Then he slowly knelt down so he was face to face with the small girl. He reached out one long-fingered hand and took both her small hands in his._

 _"If you were my daughter, Lena, I would be proud to be your father."_

 _Lena's face broke into an expression of pure, unadulterated_ joy _. A looked that stayed on her face even after the man let go of her hands and exited the room._

 _She_ loved _him._

Then darkness filled his vision again, and Remus opened his eyes.

He was kneeling next to a still-sobbing Lena, holding her hand. She was hugging her knees to her chest, her whole body trembling. The complete opposite of the young Lena he'd just seen, in what he could only assume was her _happiest_ memory.

Remus dropped her hand and scrambled to his feet. He backed away, not taking his eyes off Lena once.

He felt sick.

 _'You want to hate him, you really want to, but you just_ – can't... _You know what he's done is unforgiveable, but you owe him. Because he was there for you, when he could have easily turned away like everyone else... You can be angry at him. Be furious. You want to hurt him. You want revenge. But you can't hate him, not ever. Because he was_ kind.'

All the times Remus had wondered who Lena was talking about, not once had _Lord Voldemort_ crossed his mind.

' _Because that would insane_ ,' thought Remus disbelievingly. ' _It would be insane to think that Voldemort was ever anything but a monster._ '

It would be much easier to believe that this was just another monstrous act of Voldemort, manipulating a young, vulnerable child into liking him, trusting him. But...

Remus had seen his face when he'd told Lena he would be proud to be her father. And he would bet his life that Voldemort had been absolutely telling the truth.

"I thought I'd moved on." Lena's voice was so small, and she didn't look up from her knees when she spoke. "I thought after meeting Riddle in the Chamber that I was free of – of – of those _feelings_ for him." Another sob sent a shudder throughout her. "But I haven't."

Remus didn't know how to even begin to approach this. So instead, after a lengthy pause, he asked, "How did you do that, show me the memory without a Pensieve?"

Lena sniffed. "Occlumency," she choked out. "Or rather, a lack of it."

"I don't–"

"Because I've practised Occlumency since I was five," explained Lena, tears still running down her face, "my mind is very compartmentalised. I never let just one thought occupy all of it. Except just now, to cast the Patronus. And that meant I lost my Occlumency shield, so I was susceptible to your Legilimency."

"But I'm not a Legilimens," said Remus, confused.

For the first time since she'd started crying, Lena looked up at Remus. "No, but you wanted to know what was making me upset, and that was enough," she said, her voice hoarse from her sobs.

Remus blinked, stunned. He had unwittingly performed Legilimency just by touching her? He hadn't been aware that such a thing was possible. But he knew that Lena was far more knowledgeable of the subjects of Legilimency and Occlumency than he was, so he would take her word for it.

Even if he now knew who had taught her all of it.

"That was Voldemort," said Remus tightly.

Lena's bottom lip quivered. "Yes," she whispered.

Remus shook his head slightly in disbelief. "He was, what, your... tutor?"

"My teacher, yes," replied Lena, looking down at her knees again. "For almost two years."

"And he taught you–"

"Occlumency, Legilimency, wandless magic." She gave little shrug. "Among other things."

As much as Remus wanted to know just what exactly those _other things_ were, there was a more pressing matter. "And that memory–"

"–Was the last time I ever saw him," said Lena. She took a deep breath. "It was the day before he murdered James and Lily Potter."

Remus clenched his fists. "And the one you just used to cast a Patronus." His voice shook in its anger. "The one moment in your life when you were truly happy."

Lena didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then she quietly said, "When he told me he would be proud to be my father, I thought I was going to burst from joy. My heart–" She paused and swallowed, before continuing, "I didn't know it was possible for your heart to feel like _that_." Her voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears began to run down her face.

But now, Remus hadn't the slight urge to comfort her. "How?" he asked furiously. "How could you want that – that _monster_ to be your father?"

Lena's head snapped up, and she glared at Remus through her tears. "Because I already had monsters for parents," she shot back. "Why wouldn't I want to exchange them for a monster who was actually _nice_ to me?"

"You seriously believed your parents were worse than _Lord Voldemort_?" asked Remus, incredulous.

A half-sob, half- laugh burst out of Lena. "You think I cared about how many people they murdered and tortured? I was four, five years old. My whole world was whatever happened in my house. And in there–" She broke off, closing her eyes as her body shivered in silent anguish.

Remus simply stared at her, still unable to conceive how someone could actually _care_ for Voldemort.

When her trembling lessened, Lena opened her eyes, and gazed up at Remus. "Do you really want to know?" she whispered. Slowly, she held both hands in front of her, palms facing upwards.

In response, Remus closed the distance between them, and knelt down in front of her. He looked directly into her tear-filled eyes.

"Yes."

Then he took a deep breath and grasped both her hands with his. Once again, he was thrust into darkness.

 _13 May, 1981:_

 _The entrance hall of the Lestrange House was dimly lit by a giant chandelier that hung from the ceiling. The natural light from the sun outside could have illuminated it better, but the curtains were always drawn._

 _The front door was suddenly flung open, and barrelling in came a tall woman, who was dragging a small, shrieking girl by her hair, which was just as black as her mother's._

 _Bellatrix slammed the door shut behind her, then viciously shoved her daughter forward. Lena slammed into the floor, a small cry of pain escaping her._

 _"There is one rule," snarled Bellatrix, "just one rule, that I ask you to follow."_

 _Lena, cradling her wrist, attempted to stand up. "I didn't–"_

 _"DO NOT LEAVE THE ESTATE!"_

 _Lena flinched. "I wasn't trying to leave, there was just something on the other side of the gate– OW!" she yelped in pain as Bellatrix roughly grabbed her around the chin, her long nails digging into Lena's cheeks, and pulled her to her feet._

 _"Don't try to give me excuses," hissed Bellatrix. "You were trying to break the rule and–_

 _"–That wasn't–"_

 _"–DO NOT INTERRUPT ME! You deliberately disobeyed me–"_

 _"–That isn't–"_

 _" –_ YOU ARE NOT LISTENING TO ME _!" screamed Bellatrix, seizing Lena by the hair again and pulling her across the room. "YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME! WHY DO YOU NEVER_ LISTEN _?!" As she said the final word, she threw Lena against the wall._

 _Lena crumpled to the ground. She felt her forehead – there was now a gash on the left side. She stared at the blood on the finger pads of one hand. The other hand was limp, the wrist at an odd angle._

 _There was a flurry of noise from further within the house. Just as Bellatrix had started to pull Lena off the floor, two men burst into the entrance hall. One was tall and swarthy, the other had long, pale blonde hair._

 _"What in Salazar's name are you doing, Bellatrix?" said Lucius Malfoy, staring at her and Lena._

 _Rodolphus Lestrange simply folded his arms, and looked inquiringly at his wife._

 _"She was trying to leave the estate," said Bellatrix angrily._

 _Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Why on earth would you try to do that?" he asked Lena._

 _Before Lena could even open her mouth, Bellatrix replied, "Because she is completely incapable of following any instruction, that's why!"_

 _"It's a stupid rule," said Lena quietly._

 _For a second, the whole entrance hall was so silent that a dropped pin would be audible._

 _"What did you just say?" said Bellatrix slowly, her grip on her daughter's shoulder tightening._

 _Lena looked up at her mother defiantly. "I said it's a stupid rule."_

 _The slap across Lena's face was so sudden that it made Lucius jump. Rodolphus blinked, but still said nothing._

 _The force of the blow knocked Lena to the ground once again. Holding her cheek, she narrowed her eyes at Bellatrix._

 _Without warning, the coat rack that stood nearby the front door suddenly took flight, and zoomed towards Bellatrix. She was only half-turned around when it crashed into her. Bellatrix let out a shriek of pain, stumbling back. However, she just managed to maintain her footing. Straightening up, she turned to glare at Lena, a long scratch now across her cheek. Then she drew her wand from the pocket of her robe._

 _"Bellatrix!" said Lucius sharply, but she paid him no attention._

 _Lena, who had struggled to her feet by then, turned around and tried to run down the hallway. But with a few steps, Rodolphus blocked her exit. Lena looked up at her father pleadingly. But he remained unmoved._

 _"_ Crucio _!"_

 _A scream filled the entire Lestrange House, echoing throughout all the halls and rooms._

 _Lena fell to the ground, twisting and writhing. The last thing she would remember seeing was Lucius rolling up the sleeve of his left forearm._

The memory dissolved to black. But before Remus could open his eyes, a new image started to form.

 _Lena was lying on her bed in her room. There was no longer a gash on her forehead, nor was there any other sign of visible injury._

 _Sitting on a chair next to her bed was Lord Voldemort. He was watching Lena, his expression clearly troubled._

 _Lena's eyes fluttered open. After a few moments, they fixed on Voldemort. At once, she attempted to sit up, only to whimper in pain._

 _"Don't move," said Voldemort quietly. "Your body needs a little more time to recover."_

 _Lena gave him a tiny nod. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table._

 _Voldemort followed her gaze. "You've been unconscious for nearly twelve hours," he told her. "You passed out around the same time I arrived, which was about two minutes after Lucius alerted me." His eyes flicked back to hers. "I did come as quickly as I could."_

 _"Thank you, sir," croaked Lena, her throat very dry._

 _"Here," said Voldemort, grabbing a cup of water off the bedside table. Gently, he slid his hand behind Lena's head, raising it slightly. Then he tilted the cup towards her dry lips, and allowed the water to lightly trickle into her mouth. When she'd had enough, he put it back on the table._

 _"How long have you been waiting for me to wake up?" asked Lena, her voice a little stronger now._

 _Voldemort looked at her quizzically._

 _"I mean, sitting here," clarified Lena. "Waiting here."_

 _"Nearly twelve hours."_

 _Lena's eyes widened. "You mean," she swallowed, "you stayed here all that time? With me?"_

 _"Since I finished my... discussion... with your mother and father." Voldemort nodded. "Yes."_

 _At the mention of her parents, Lena tensed. "Discussion?"_

 _Voldemort's expression tightened, and he flexed his fingers, as if they were itching to throttle someone. "Your mother will not use the Cruciatus Curse on you again," he said."She is now aware of the consequences of that action. As is your father."_

 _"What sort of consequences?" asked Lena curiously._

 _"The sort they will remember."_

 _It was clear that Lena would have liked further elaboration, but she restrained herself. "Good," she said instead._

 _Voldemort smiled at her. Lena attempted to return it, but a yawn took its place._

 _"You should get some more sleep," said Voldemort gently. "After all, I need you well-rested for our lesson on Friday afternoon."_

 _Lena nodded tiredly. "Okay." Her eyes were almost closed, when they shot open again. "Erm, are you staying?"_

 _Voldemort tilted his head. "Would you like me to stay?"_

 _"You've already spent half a day here," said Lena reluctantly. "You probably have lots of other important things to do."_

 _"I do," agreed Voldemort. "But would you like me to stay?"_

 _Lena bit her lip. "Yes, please," she whispered._

 _Voldemort settled back into his chair. "Then I will stay."_

 _This time, as Lena slipped into unconsciousness, there was a small smile on her face. She knew as long as Voldemort was with her, everything would be all right._

Remus opened his eyes, letting go of Lena's hands. He staggered to his feet and turned away from the girl, doubling over. He thought he was going to be sick.

"Fuck," he muttered, closing his eyes.

In his conversations with her over the last few months, Lena had implied there was little love lost between her parents and herself. But the memory he had just witnessed – it was one thing to know that Bellatrix Lestrange happily tortured and murdered muggles, Muggle-borns, and anyone else who got in her way; it was horrific, but a conceivable horrific. The way she treated her _own_ daughter, on the other hand...

Once he was confident he wasn't going to vomit, Remus straightened and turned back to Lena. She was sitting cross-legged, her face still wet with tears. She was looking at Remus beseechingly. Like she _needed_ him to understand.

"Why?" asked Remus, his voice thick with emotion. "Why would she do... _that_ to you?"

Lena shrugged helplessly. "Because she hated me. I don't know why. Nobody ever explained why. All I know is that for as long as I can remember, she hated me."

Remus grimaced as the memory continued to play in his mind. "And your father, he just–"

"He never hurt me himself, but he never tried to stop her," said Lena quietly. "If Lucius or Narcissa were there, they sometimes tried to intervene. But only if it was that bad."

Remus' stomach knotted. "So that was a regular occurrence?" he said in a strangled voice. "That kind of–" he swallowed, "–abuse?"

"The Cruciatus Curse?" said Lena. "No. That was the only time. And there was never as much... physical stuff... again. But there were always hexes and jinxes." She paused. "Well, for the next six months, at any rate." She half-smiled, but her eyes were still teary. "Then one day they went out, and the next thing I knew my grandmother was telling me they'd been arrested. That really should have been the best day of my life, but... but I was still too upset over the news that Voldemort was gone." Lena wiped at her tearstained face, then looked curiously at her slightly damp fingers. "So that's what crying is like," she remarked. "I couldn't remember."

Remus had been so horrified by that first memory that he was only struck by a certain peculiarity of it now. Lena hadn't once cried – not even when Bellatrix had been hurting her.

"When was the last time you cried?" he inquired.

Lena sniffed. "I don't know." Then she frowned. "Actually, I have these sort vague flashes of a memory – my earliest one, I think – from when I was two or three. I was crying, and she wanted me to stop. So she kept sending Stinging Hexes at me until I did. I don't think I ever cried after that."

"Until tonight," said Remus quietly.

"Until tonight," repeated Lena, nodding.

"Why?" asked Remus. "Because the memory was so overpowering?"

"Kind of," said Lena, starting to play with her hair. "But more because I thought I was better than that." A tear started to roll down her cheek. "But I'm _not_." Her voice cracked, and the single tear was slowly followed by others.

Initially so focused on the first part of the memory, Remus' thoughts were now occupied by the second. "You don't know why your mother hated you," he said slowly, "but do you know why Voldemort was so..." He struggled for the right word.

"Kind?" suggested Lena softly.

Remus' jaw tightened, discomforted by the idea of 'Voldemort' and 'kind' being used in the same sentence.

' _But that's what you just saw_ ,' an internal voice reasoned. ' _Her own parents tortured her, while Voldemort took care of her._ '

"At first, I think he was just interested in how I used accidental magic," continued Lena. "But over time, I think–" She paused, holding back a sob. "I thought he genuinely started to care about me."

"He did." The words came out of Remus' mouth before he realised what he was saying.

Lena looked at him, surprised.

Remus sighed, then sat down next to Lena again. "If your memories are accurate, Lena," he told her, "then he cared for you – as much as it pains me to believe it."

"Then why wouldn't he–" Lena stopped abruptly, biting her lip and looking down at her lap. "See what I mean?" she murmured. "Even knowing everything I know now, I still get upset over the thought that maybe Voldemort didn't really care about me." She looked back up at Remus. "I'm just..." She smiled sadly through her tears. "I'm fucked up," she said simply.

If there were words Remus could have said to provide at least some small comfort to Lena, he didn't know them. So instead, he did the only thing he could.

He held her hand, and sat with the weeping girl until she had no more tears to shed.

* * *

 **And that's Chapter 25!**

 **I'm very interested to know your reactions and thoughts to this chapter, so if you are so inclined, please do leave a review, and if you have a question, I'll endeavour to answer it. I really appreciate feedback :)**

 **Next update hopefully shouldn't be too far away...**


	26. Two is Company

**Hello! I'm afraid it's only a single chapter update this time, but in less than two weeks, so hopefully that kind of evens out. Thank you to rebelforcauses, vballnikig, Clementsc1992** (I have an answer to your question in my AN at the end of the chapter), **Justmeesh33, MihHale and the guest for their reviews, they're very much appreciated :) It's great to hear that people are actually invested in Lena's character - and very helpful to know how other people see and are interpreting her.**

 **So here's Chapter 26, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _Sunday 19 December, 1993:_

"He was their friend. And he betrayed them."

Lena gazed at Harry sympathetically. She hadn't seen him this upset since their conversation after the Chamber of Secrets, when she'd explained her true connection to Voldemort.

They were sitting on the bottom step of the Gryffindor Tower's staircase, having just come from dinner in the Great Hall. Apparently, Harry had been wanting to speak to Lena all afternoon, but she had only left her dormitory for the first time that evening. She hadn't been in a particularly sociable mood after the previous night.

"It's awful you had to find out that way," she said softly.

Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Do you think there would ever be a _good_ way to find out?" he said bitterly.

Yesterday, the Weasley twins had shown Harry one of the secret passages out of the castle and into Hogsmeade, giving Harry his first opportunity to visit the Wizarding village. However, he'd gotten a little more than he'd bargained for when he'd overheard a conversation between several Hogwarts staff members, the Minister for Magic, and Madam Rosmerta in the Three Broomsticks – a conversation concerning his parents' history with Sirius Black.

None of it was really news to Lena, who had been given an outline of what had happened by Lupin some weeks prior. She had no intention, however, of letting Harry know that, so she had simply listened to him recount what he'd heard, providing him an understanding and sympathetic ear.

"Well, now you have that information," said Lena, "what are you planning to do with it?"

"I want to kill him."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "I think that's a little ambitious, don't you?" she said mildly.

Harry stood up, glaring at her. "My parents are dead because of him!" he said hotly.

"Harry, you're a reasonably talented wizard for your age," said Lena, leaning back on her elbows to look up at him, "but the standard we hold thirteen-year-olds to is significantly lower than the one by which we measure fully-trained adults. Even if Sirius Black wasn't a convicted mass-murderer, he'd still be much too dangerous for someone of your skill level to take on."

"I bet _you_ would have taken him on when you were thirteen," muttered Harry, looking sullen.

"I had seven years of magical training before I came to Hogwarts," Lena reminded him. "So I'm not a valid comparison. But just for argument's sake, let's imagine you were skilled enough to fight Black now." She looked at him questioningly. "Do you really think if it came down to it, you'd kill him?"

"Of course," replied Harry without a moment's hesitation.

Lena cocked her head. "I don't believe you."

"Black betrayed my parents, Lena!" said Harry loudly, his voice echoing off the walls. "He sold them to Voldemort. He _deserves_ to die!"

"I'm not saying you don't wish he was dead," said Lena calmly. "I'm saying I don't believe that you, if presented with the opportunity, would murder him. Even to avenge your parents."

"You would," Harry blurted out.

Lena stared at him.

He bit his lip. "If someone did what he did to somebody you cared about," he said quietly, "you'd kill them."

There was a long pause, before Lena shrugged and replied, "Perhaps I would." She stood up. "But you're better than me, Harry."

Harry looked at his feet. "Weaker, you mean," he mumbled.

"Don't say that," said Lena sharply. She reached out and tilted his chin up so he was looking up at her. "Don't you ever dare even think that," she told him, her tone gentler. " _You_ are strong, whereas I..." Lena took a deep breath. "Whereas I am afraid to be weak."

It was strange to Lena how easily her life could be summed up in so few words. Afraid of being weak – the motivation behind nearly every decision she'd ever made.

Lena held Harry's gaze until he nodded."Right," she said, letting go of his chin, "I should let you go up to join Ron and Hermione."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Thank you," he added, "for, you know, listening."

Lena smiled. "Any time." Without warning, a pain shot through her chest, and she gasped.

' _Great,_ ' she thought. ' _What a perfect time to have an episode._ '

"Lena?" asked Harry, looking worried. "What's the matter?"

A headache starting to form, Lena braced herself against the wall, a hand on her chest. "It's nothing," she muttered, closing her eyes.

A hesitant hand touched her upper-arm, and Harry's anxious voice said, "You don't look well."

"It's nothing," repeated Lena, opening her eyes and trying to look reassuringly at Harry. "It'll pass in a minute."

Harry's brow furrowed. "You mean this has happened before?"

' _Nice work, genius,_ ' remarked Lena's snide internal voice.

Lena sighed. It looked like it might be time to tell Harry the truth.

Well, a small bit of it, at any rate.

"I haven't been terribly well lately," she told him, grimacing in pain.

"Why?" asked Harry concernedly. "What's wrong?"

Lena opened her mouth to reply, but another jolt of pain in her chest instead made her cry out.

"Right," said Harry firmly, "you need to go to the hospital wing." He stepped closer to her, but Lena waved him away.

"It's fine," she said. "I can deal with it myself."

She took a step away from the wall, and without its support, promptly fell over.

"Lena!" exclaimed Harry, kneeling down beside her.

She pushed herself up so she was sitting, wincing as she rubbed the side of her left knee. There was definitely going to be a bruise there tomorrow. Harry helped move her so her back was resting against the wall.

"I'm going to get someone," said Harry, standing up.

"No," said Lena resignedly, rubbing her chest. She pointed to the spot next to her. "Sit, and I'll explain." When Harry had done as she'd asked, she continued softly, "I'm sick, Harry. I have been for a few months now."

Harry blanched. "When you say sick–"

"It's not the kind of illness that a quick visit to Madam Pomfrey can fix," said Lena. "It's quite serious."

"I didn't realise," said Harry quietly, looking down at his lap.

Lena half-smiled. "Of course you didn't," she said. "I didn't want you to know. Or anyone else for that matter, so I've been doing my best to hide my condition."

"You haven't told anyone?" asked Harry, sounding appalled.

"Dumbledore knows," said Lena quickly. "So does Lupin. And because it's... a very rare illness, there are some healers at the IHO searching for a way to treat me."

"At the what?"

"The IHO – the International Healers' Organisation." This name didn't seem to register with Harry. "The branch of the International Confederation of Wizards that specialises in matters of health pertaining to the Wizarding world?"

"Oh."

"Please remind me to teach you about international policy of the Wizarding world some time."

"All right," said Harry, sounding like he had absolutely no intention of ever doing so. "And there currently isn't a way to help you?"

Lena shook her head. "I just have to live with it," she explained.

' _And die from it_ ,' she silently added. But Harry didn't need to know that. He had enough crap going on in his life – there was no need to worry him about her own.

* * *

 _Saturday 25 December, 1993:_

As Lena stood in front of the Defence teacher's bedroom door, a sudden nervousness came over her.

' _Maybe I should come back later_ ,' she thought. ' _Tomorrow, even.'_

A small noise made her look down at her shoulder, upon which Mortimer was sitting. He was gazing up at her inquiringly. She had brought him with her in case Lupin's office had been locked again – a wise precaution, as it had turned out.

"He's probably still sleeping," Lena muttered to him. "And even if he isn't, I'm sure he'd much rather rest than be bothered by me."

Mortimer gave her a look that very clearly said he thought Lena was being a coward.

"Fine," hissed Lena. She lifted up the hem of her jumper. "Then get out of sight, and I'll knock on the door."

The bowtruckle scrabbled down her side, and latched on to the inside of the jumper. Once he was safely hidden, Lena raised a fist and took a deep breath in, attempting to steady her nerves.

She hadn't seen Lupin since her breakdown the previous Saturday night. She had sat on the floor crying for almost an hour after showing him her memories of the day her mother had used an Unforgivable Curse on her. And Lupin had stayed by her side that whole time, not saying anything, but not once letting go of her hand. When the last of her tears had fallen, she had quietly told him she needed to go back to her dormitory. Lupin had let her go, after she had promised she would come back to see him later that week so they could talk more.

Now that week was up. It was not an ideal day to visit Lupin, as there had been a full moon last night, so she had waited until after lunch before making the journey to his office. When he hadn't been in his office, but evidently still in his bedroom, Lena had considered just waiting until the next day to see him. But she had given him her word that she would see him within the week, and the last thing she wanted to do, especially now, was break her word to Lupin.

 _'Besides,_ ' thought Lena, ' _it's Christmas day. The poor man deserves at least one visitor_.'

So she slowly breathed out, and knocked on the door. A sound of hurried movement came from within and after about fifteen seconds, the door opened.

Lupin was wearing pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt – Lena vaguely recalled him wearing a similar thing when she'd visited him after the Dementors' pitch invasion – and his hair was still rumpled from his sleep. Upon seeing Lena, his mouth parted in a small ' _Oh'_ of surprise.

"I'm sorry," said Lena hurriedly, a light blush creeping over her cheeks, "I shouldn't have disturbed you." She backed up a couple of steps. "I can just come back another day–"

"No, it's fine," said Lupin. Attempting to smooth his hair down, he gave Lena a hesitant smile. "I'm just glad you've finally come."

Lena looked down at the floor uncomfortably. "I just needed some time, before..."

"I understand," said Lupin, and Lena looked back up. "I should have given you more time than a week."

"Well," replied Lena, smiling nervously, "I'm here now." She remembered something. "Oh, erm, Merry Christmas."

Lupin blinked. "Oh, yes. Merry Christmas."

There was a lengthy pause, before Lena cleared her throat. "So, did you want to talk, or..."

"Right," said Lupin hastily. "Yes. Well, come in." He moved to the side of the doorway, giving Lena a clear view of his unmade bed.

"Into your bedroom?" asked Lena, her voice slightly higher than usual.

Lupin's face turned red in an astoundingly short amount of time. "Merlin," he said, his voice even higher than Lena's, "I didn't mean–"

His flustered reaction somehow put Lena at ease. She smirked. "At least buy a girl a drink first, Professor," she said, and strode right past him into the room. She took a seat at the foot of the bed, smiling at the stunned teacher, and patted the spot next to her. "You wanted to talk, didn't you?"

Lupin stared at her for a few seconds, then closed the door. He made to sit down, but paused. "I might actually, erm..." He walked over to his bedside table and picked up his wand. "Would you mind?" he asked Lena, gesturing for her to stand.

She did so, and he muttered an incantation, waving his wand. At once, the sheets and blankets on the bed pulled themselves up. He put his wand back on the table as Lena sat back down on the now-made bed, and joined her.

"Right," said Lupin, moving one leg up on to the bed so he was properly facing Lena. "Let's talk."

"Okay," said Lena. She bent over and pulled off her boots, then shifted back so she could sit cross-legged on the bed. "Where would you like to start?" she asked him.

"How did Voldemort first come to be your teacher?"

"Getting straight into it, then," muttered Lena under her breath. In a louder voice, she explained, "Not long after I'd turned four, he was at the house and saw me perform some accidental magic." She paused. "Well, I say accidental, but there was definitely some intent behind it."

"What do you mean?"

"I was retaliating to a hex my mother sent at me," said Lena. "Only, unlike in the memory you saw last week, I was a little more successful in getting her to stop hurting me. Anyway, what I did seemed to impress Voldemort, because next thing I knew, he was offering me lessons." She smiled wryly. "I don't think Bellatrix was particularly happy about it, but of course, she'd never deny her Dark Lord anything."

Lupin nodded slowly. "So, he started giving you lessons."

"Every Friday afternoon, for two hours," said Lena. "He never missed one," she added quietly.

"And what was his intention?"

"His intention?" repeated Lena, puzzled.

"Why did he want you to improve your magical abilities?" asked Lupin. "What did he gain from it?"

Lena started to twist a lock of hair around her index finger, considering this.

When she didn't reply, Lupin continued, "Were you supposed to be the first in the next generation of Death Eaters, or–"

"No."

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "What makes you so sure of that?"

"The Death Eaters were his subordinates," said Lena, "not his pupils. He wanted them to be skilled and dangerous, yes, but he wasn't going to go out of his way to teach them anything... extraordinary. Not in the way he pushed me to be."

"What do you mean by extraordinary?"

"To one day be as good as him," said Lena. " _At least_ as good as him."

"That doesn't make any sense," said Lupin. "Voldemort wanted to be the most powerful wizard in the world – why would he actively help someone to be his equal?"

Smiling, Lena shook her head. "And therein lies your fundamental misunderstanding of Lord Voldemort," she told Lupin.

"Enlighten me," said Lupin, crossing his arms.

Lena shrugged, as if it were obvious. "He loves magic," she said simply.

 _Friday 2 May, 1980:_

 _"Take a moment to gather your focus."_

 _Lena screwed her eyes shut, and slowly breathed in and out. Then she opened her eyes and snapped her fingers._

 _A small, blue flame flickered into life in the palm her hand. She stared at it, entranced._

 _"I did it," she whispered, hardly daring to believe it._

 _"Well done."_

 _Lena looked up from the flame to her teacher and smiled. "Thank you."_

 _Voldemort returned the smile. For a little while, they simply gazed at the flame in silence. Then Lena closed her fist, putting it out._

 _"So, what's next?" she asked Voldemort eagerly._

 _He chuckled. "Already moving on, are we?"_

 _Lena shrugged. "I mean, I'm happy I can do it. But there's so much more to learn–"_

 _"And you are very young, and have so much time in which to learn it," Voldemort pointed out._

 _"But I want to learn_ everything _."_

 _"I know you do," said Voldemort after a short pause, an unusual softness in his eyes. "And that pleases me very much."_

 _Lena flashed him a smile. She snapped her fingers, and a blue flame appeared once again. "It's amazing, isn't it," she murmured._

 _"What?"_

 _Her eyes flicked up to Voldemort. "Magic," she said. "What it can do." She looked back at the flame. "Being a muggle must be awful."_

 _"Yes," agreed Voldemort quietly, staring at Lena contemplatively. "Yes, I suspect it is."_

 _Once again, Lena extinguished the flame. "Sir," she began, "I know we've only been having these lessons for a few months, but..." She trailed off, biting her lip._

 _"But?" Voldemort prompted her_

 _"When do you think I'll have learnt everything you can teach me?"_

 _"Absolutely everything?" Voldemort considered this for a moment. "It's difficult to say. Perhaps fifteen or so years." He smiled at her. "Quite possibly less, if you continue learning at this rate."_

 _Lena nodded slowly. "Then what happens?" she inquired._

 _"What happens after I've taught you everything I can?"_

 _She nodded again._

 _"Then perhaps," said Voldemort softly, "we can both learn new things together."_

 _"Like inventing spells? Doing stuff nobody else had done before?"_

 _"Exactly," he affirmed. "Those sorts of things."_

 _Lena smiled shyly. "I'd like that."_

 _For a split second, the red seemed to fade from Voldemort's eyes, and his face became oddly... human. "I'd like that too," he replied, his voice unusually sincere. Then he slipped back into his ordinary countenance . "And the more work we do now, the sooner that future can come."_

 _Lena straightened, looking at him attentively. "Yes, sir."_

 _She kept her attention firmly on what he was saying for the rest of the lesson. But the moment he left after their lesson ended, her mind went straight back to what he'd said about their intended future._

 _The future in which he'd assured her they would stay together._

"You think Voldemort wants to be powerful in terms of comparison," explained Lena. "That what he wants is to be the _most_ powerful. But that's not right. What he wants is to be as powerful as he possibly can be – because he loves magic. And he feels disdain for both anyone who doesn't want that, and anyone who does want it, but is unwilling to truly try."

Lupin appeared to come to a realisation. "Ambition," he said quietly. "That's what it comes down to." He regarded Lena with a curious expression. "And he chose to teach you – he felt affection for you–"

"–Because the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin for a reason," finished Lena.

There was a brief silence. Then:

"I asked him to teach me to kill her."

Lupin's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

Lena stared down at her lap. "The night he first offered to give me lessons," she said softly. "I asked Voldemort if he could teach me how to hurt my mother back. He laughed, and said he could teach me to kill her." She could feel Lupin's eyes boring into her.

"You were four years old," he said disbelievingly.

She glanced up at him. "I was a very angry four-year-old," she responded flatly. She sighed, then moved back so she could uncross her legs and stretch them out in front of her. "I've just been thinking a lot about that this week," she explained, arching her back until there was a satisfying _crack_. "Ever since I spoke to Harry. He knows, by the way," she added offhandedly.

Lupin frowned. "Knows what?"

"That Sirius Black was his dad's best friend, and the Secret Keeper when the Potters went into hiding," said Lena. "That he betrayed them."

"How did he find out?" asked Lupin, looking slightly ill.

"Ron and Hermione overheard some of the teachers discussing it with Cornelius Fudge in the Three Broomsticks last Saturday," Lena lied smoothly. Lupin might have been more reasonable and forgiving than most teachers, but she was fairly certain he would still be angry with Harry if he knew the boy had been sneaking into Hogsmeade when a mass-murderer was supposedly after him. "Naturally, they told Harry everything they heard. And now he seems to think that he should kill Black to avenge his parents' deaths."

"I don't blame him," said Lupin darkly. "If I ever get my hands on Sirius–"

"Oh, don't you start," interrupted Lena dismissively. "Neither you nor Harry are murderers, so don't pretend you'd _Avada Kedavra_ him on sight."

Lupin narrowed his eyes. "I think you're underestimating–"

"What an ordinary person would do to avenge a loved one?" said Lena in a bored tone. "Granted I don't have experience in the matter, but I am aware that revenge isn't an uncommonly sought thing. What I meant was that you and Harry are _better_ than that."

There was a long pause as Lupin stared at Lena. Then he quietly asked, "Why are you so convinced that I'm a good man?"

Lena hesitated, then said, "Two years ago, I spent the Christmas holidays with the Scamanders. One evening, I had a, well, _interesting_ discussion with Newt, and during it, the subject of werewolves was brought up. Newt told me that a werewolf had once said to him that after their first full moon, a werewolf was faced with a decision: embrace the monster, or reject it and cling to their humanity all the harder." She offered Lupin a small smile. "When I look at you, it isn't hard to figure out which one you chose."

Instead of returning the smile, Lupin looked down at the bed with a bothered expression. "That makes it sound all so simple," he said.

"I find that often happens to feelings when you try to put them into words," remarked Lena. "But do you have a better way to explain it?"

Lupin looked up at her with a slight frown.

"You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not," said Lena quickly.

Shifting into a more comfortable position, Lupin shook his head. "No, I'll try," he said. "It's just..." He sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "It's not such a clear cut thing, the separation between the human and the monster," he explained. "Without the full moon, there's still this, this potential to be that beast. It's always there, at the back of my mind."

"But you resist it."

"Yes," said Lupin, "but it's not like I made one decision years ago, and that was it." He pushed his hair back, looking very tired again. "It's an ongoing battle."

The moment he said it, their eyes locked, and something changed in the room's atmosphere. A mutual understanding that had finally been reached between the werewolf and the girl with Dark magic literally running through her veins.

"What about the Wolfsbane?" asked Lena. "Does it have any effect on that... struggle?"

Lupin's brow creased. "It's strange," he said. "For the week leading up to the full moon, when I'm taking it, it's almost like I can feel that wolfish part being sedated. Then after the full moon, it's like the rest of me feels sedated, exhausted, lethargic – more than I do after a transformation _without_ Wolfsbane. Which is odd, because I would expend far more energy during a full moon then than I do now."

"Kinetic energy, perhaps," said Lena. "But I imagine suppressing the wolf's more violent instincts takes its toll on you. After all, Wolfsbane was only invented, what, half a dozen years ago?" She shrugged. "No one's really sure what long-term effects it could have on a user yet."

Lupin grimaced. "Well, that's a thought that's going to fester," he muttered.

"Maybe we can be sick buddies," joked Lena, lying down on her side – being careful not to squish Mortimer – so she could stretch out.

"That reminds me," said Lupin, looking down at her concernedly. "How have you been this week?"

"Same as the last few weeks, I suppose," replied Lena. She rolled onto her back and drew up her knees. "I had an episode in front of Harry, so now he knows that I'm sick – well, to an extent."

"You didn't tell him it's terminal?" guessed Lupin.

"No," confirmed Lena, "nor that I can't use magic."

"Are you planning on telling him at all?"

"I don't know," answered Lena honestly, staring up at the ceiling. "And NEWT exams are only six months away now, so there's a whole other problem I need to start thinking about." She covered her face with her hands. "Merlin's balls," she mumbled, "everything's going to shit."

There was a brief silence, then Lena felt the bed sink slightly lower as Lupin flopped back on the bed, lying next to her.

"It's all such a fucking mess, isn't it?" he murmured.

Lena removed her hands from her head, and glanced at Lupin. "Yeah," she agreed, "it really is."

There was a long, companionable silence as they both lay there, gazing up at the ceiling.

Eventually, Lena broke it, remembering something. She turned back onto her side to face Lupin. "Well, I can show you one good thing that came out of this week," she told him.

Lupin looked at her curiously. "Go on."

Lena smiled, and sat up. She pulled her wand out of her jumper sleeve, and pointed it at the door. " _Expecto Patronum,"_ she said in a clear voice.

Sitting up fast, Lupin's eyes widened as a bright silver light poured out of Lena's wand, creating a distinct, strong shield. He quickly turned his attention to Lena's face.

She was smiling serenely.

After fifteen or so seconds, the light faded. Lupin continued to stare at Lena, no doubt astonished by her lack of tears.

"How?" was all he could manage.

"How I've always learned to do anything," said Lena simply. "By doing it over and over again until it comes naturally." She shrugged. "I've been practising in my dorm all week. It might not be Corporeal, but I reckon it'll do its job."

Lupin still looked stunned. "But you're not..."

"Having an emotional breakdown?" suggested Lena when Lupin trailed off. "No, I got past that the seventh time. I guess I just came to terms with it – my happiest memory is seriously fucked up; nevertheless, it's what works." She smiled sardonically. "Turns out pushing the things you don't want to think about to the back of your mind isn't actually the best way of dealing with them."

* * *

Delighted as Remus was that Lena could now cast a Patronus, a small, selfish part of him desperately wished that the ability still eluded her. Their weekly Patronus lessons over the past couple of months had come to be one of the highlights of his week. Her seemingly boundless knowledge combined with her quick wit made for an excellent conversationalist, not to mention that her complete acceptance of his condition was... well, a nice change. When he was with Lena, he could be more of his self – felt more like his _real_ self – than he had in a long time, and the prospect of losing those few precious hours of her company every week was painful.

In the end, however, he need not have worried. Rather than just seeing her for lessons on Saturday evenings, Lena took it upon herself to visit Remus in his office nearly every evening, and frequently spent much of the weekends with him too. Sometimes they talked for hours on end. Other times, Lena would help him with marking, and on other occasions, Remus would read through her essays for her privates classes with Dumbledore – which proved to also be an education for him. But at the end of the day, it didn't really matter what they were doing – it was Lena's presence that was most important. And that made the fact her life hung in such a precarious balance so frightening.

Her condition appeared to stabilise to a degree after Christmas. She still had episodes, of course, but they weren't getting any worse, or more frequent. Lena told him that Dumbledore had suggested that her ability to cast a Patronus may have helped in that regard. Remus was glad that the spread of the poison had slowed, but also knew that if the IHO didn't get a move on, that relief would be relatively short-lived.

Although Remus no longer had Lena as a pupil, he had gained a new one for Patronus lessons – and one that caused him only a little less worry than the former. Not that it had anything to do with his performance in those lessons –Harry's progress with the Patronus Charm was frankly astounding for a boy of his age. And every time a small, silver light shot out of his wand, it was so difficult for Remus not to tell him how proud his parents would be.

No, Harry wasn't _directly_ causing Remus worry. What was concerning him was Harry's godfather – and how close he was getting to their fellow marauder's son.

 _Sunday 6 February, 1994:_

"He was in their dormitory?" whispered Remus, aghast.

Minerva nodded, her expression grave. "Weasley says he woke up to find him standing over his bed, holding a knife."

Remus bent over, his hands on his knees, and closed his eyes. He felt sick.

It was a quarter-to-three in the morning, and they was standing in his office. A few minutes ago, Remus had been woken by Minerva pounding on his door, calling out there was an emergency.

Less than an hour ago, Sirius Black had broken into the Gryffindor Tower, and gone into the Third Year boys' dormitory.

"When Weasley started yelling," continued Minerva, "he fled. We're searching the castle now."

Remus turned to go back into his room. "Right, just let me grab my dressing gown, and I can join–"

"No, Remus," said Minerva. "Albus and I would rather that you stay here. For the time being."

He froze, then slowly turned back to Minerva. "Are you saying that I no longer have the confidence of you and the headmaster? You, like Snape, believe I'm actually _helping_ him?"

"Of course not," said Minerva firmly. "Quite the opposite, in fact. We are more concerned that..." she hesitated, "... that if you were to come across Black, you may behave... _irrationally_."

"You mean like try to take him on myself."

"Yes, and get yourself killed in the process" replied Minerva frankly.

Remus frowned, annoyed. "I'm not Peter, Minerva. I could–"

"I know you are skilled duellist, Remus," interrupted Minerva. "But not only did Black murder thirteen people with one curse, he escaped from Azkaban." She looked at him sadly. "Maybe we once thought we knew what Sirius was capable of, Remus, but we cannot remain under such an illusion anymore." She cleared her throat, and her expression hardened. "So I will ask you once again to remain here while the rest of the staff search the castle. Is that understood?"

After she had left, Remus sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.

' _I hate him,_ ' he thought angrily. ' _I hate that bastard, and I hope a Dementor catches him and sucks his soul out."_

The son-of-a-bitch had robbed him of all his dearest friends in a matter of hours. He had robbed Harry of his parents. And he had murdered thirteen people for no good reason.

 _'So why,'_ he asked himself, ' _did the cries of one innocent thirteen-year-old boy make him flee_?'

* * *

 _Tuesday 8 February, 1994:_

' _The possibility of a two-way mirror that has not only a visual connection but also a physical, has been explored – albeit without great success. In 1925, Icelandic wizard Ásbjörn Ólafursson attempted to traverse between a pair of two-way mirrors, only to accidentally separate his mind from his body – with the former becoming trapped in the reflection dimension, until it was rescued eight months later by noted scholar of the magical properties of reflections, Johanna Iversen.'_

Her fingers becoming cramped, Lena put down her quill to flex the muscles in her hand. She had been writing her essay for her private lessons with Dumbledore for a solid hour now.

She picked up one of the academic papers that Hedda Nygård had sent her that morning, after Lena had written to her the previous week for more information regarding research into the magical nature of mirrors. Scanning it for anything further about the case of Ásbjörn Ólafursson, she was disrupted from her work by a knock on her dormitory door.

Lena looked around at the door, frowning. Who on earth could be knocking on it? She stood up from her desk – which she'd had some house-elves move into her dormitory from a spare classroom not longer after she'd moved into the room – and went over to the door, pulling it open.

It was Farley.

Lena arched an eyebrow. "Yes?" she said warily.

Farley smiled hesitantly. "Hi."

When she didn't say anything else, Lena sighed. "Can I help you?" she inquired pointedly.

"Um, yes," said Farley. She bit her lip, and looked left and right. "I, um, I don't suppose I might come in?" she asked timidly.

Lena stared at her for a long moment, then looked back at Mortimer, who was sitting on her bedside table. She jerked her head at him, and the bowtruckle took the hint to hide. Once he was out of sight, Lena turned back to Farley and stood to the side of the doorway, gesturing for her to enter.

Walking in, Farley looked around the dorm curiously. "Wow," she commented, "you've got so much space to yourself in here." Her eyes fell on the desk. "How'd you get a desk in here?"

"I'm resourceful," responded Lena flatly, shutting the door. "Now, what did you want to talk about?"

Farley suddenly looked very nervous. "Oh, well, um..." She swallowed. "I, er, I don't know if you saw the notice board, but there's going to be a Hogsmeade trip this Saturday."

"No, I hadn't seen that."

"Right," said Farley, nodding. "Er, well there is."

Lena walked over to her desk, and leant against it, waiting for Farley to continue. When she didn't, she asked, "And was there a particular reason you wished to inform me of it, Farley?"

"You can call me Gemma, you know," said Farley tentatively. "I'd be cool with that."

Lena blinked. "Oh." She smoothed her hair back awkwardly. "Erm, all right, then."

Farley – or rather, _Gemma_ – flashed her a quick, uncertain smile. "Great," she said. "And I wanted to tell you because I was wondering, were you planning on going?"

"I don't know," replied Lena truthfully. There hadn't been a Hogsmeade trip since she'd learned how to cast a Patronus, and even though she could do one now, Lena didn't think it would be a great idea to cast one in front of the rest of school just so she could get past the Dementors on her way out of Hogwarts. It would bring far too much unwanted attention upon her. On the other hand, she really would like to get to both Dervish & Banges, and Tomes & Scrolls.

"Well," said Gemma, moving closer to Lena, "I was just thinking that maybe if you were going, then perhaps..." She hesitated, before a stream of words poured out her mouth: "Prapswecorgofeva?"

"See, you've just done that thing again where you say something in a language that nobody actually speaks," said Lena drily.

Gemma's cheeks went pink. "Sorry. I was just asking if perhaps we could go," she coughed nervously, "together?"

Lena stared at her blankly. "Together," she said at last, "in exactly what capacity?'

"In, um... what I mean is... I was thinking – oh, Merlin." Gemma took a deep breath. "You know what? I'm just going to do it."

"Do wha–" Lena was cut off by Gemma closing the distance between them and firmly kissing her on the lips.

The kiss lasted roughly three seconds, then Gemma drew back. She was looking at Lena, with a mixture of nervousness and hope.

Lena stared back at her, stunned.

"I'll, um," said Gemma, walking backwards, "give you some time to think about what I, uh, asked." Reaching the door, she quickly pulled it open and exited the dormitory.

Still frozen, Lena stared at the door as it swung shut after Gemma, her mind blanker than – well, than she could ever recall it being.

After about twenty seconds, a single thought finally presented itself in her mind.

' _Oh, fuck.'_

* * *

 _Wednesday 9 February, 1994:_

"And lastly, remember to not separate from your partner when patrolling at any time," said Percy Weasley, his expression very serious. "Black has already made it into the castle on two separate occasions–"

"That we know about it," Lena put in.

A number of the Prefects' faces paled at this implication.

"Yes," said Weasley, shooting Lena an annoyed look. "So we have to always be vigilant. And never on our own – so don't split up to check inside different classrooms, or if one of you needs to visit the bathroom during a patrol, the other should wait directly outside until–"

"Yes, I think they get it," said Lena hastily, seeing the expressions of discomfort that had appeared on some of the Prefects. "Well, if that's everything, then I think it's time you all head back to your Common Rooms – except Clearwater and Tullock who are on Patrol this evening, as are Farley and myself."

Fakhir Kahn raised his hand, puzzled. "But usually I patrol tonight with Gemma."

"I switched us so you're patrolling tomorrow night," said Lena briskly. "I assumed you would appreciate the extra time tonight to finish our Arithmancy assignment due tomorrow."

"Oh," said Kahn, surprised. "Thank you."

"All right, see you all next week," said Lena, doing her best to ignore the intent look Gemma was giving her.

There were various replies of "Thank you" and "See you" from the Prefects as they stood up and filed out of the classroom they used for meetings, until it was just Lena and Gemma left.

Gemma cleared her throat nervously. "Does... does this mean you've thought about what I... asked?" she said cautiously.

' _Like I'd be able to think of anything else today_ ,' thought Lena, but simply nodded. She stood at the doorway, indicating to Gemma to go through. "How about we discuss it while we do our rounds?" she suggested.

"Okay," said Gemma, and they exited the classroom.

They walked down the first-floor corridor in silence, as Lena tried to collect her thoughts. It wasn't helping that Gemma kept shooting her hopeful looks.

Romantic feelings weren't something with which Lena was overly familiar – especially in terms of other Hogwarts students. Sure, there were a couple of Valeriya's associates who she'd found attractive when she was a child, and not just appearance-wise. But they'd never been anything more than slight crushes. At Hogwarts, however, there had never been anyone who interested her in that way, and she had always assumed nobody thought of her like that either. No one had ever asked her out, and the only person who had ever tried to kiss her was Riddle – which Lena tried not to think about. In any case, Lena had remained unkissed.

Until last night. They turned off the main corridor into a smaller one, and as Gemma opened a classroom door to check no students were inside, Lena risked a quick glance at her. She was undoubtedly a pretty girl, and reasonably intelligent by ordinary standards. And she had never displayed any blood-purist sentiments, which certainly set her several bars above most of their housemates. In fact, as Lena had learnt over the last year-and-a-half, Gemma was sometimes downright _nice_. All in all, she had quite a number of appealing qualities – which only served to cause her confusion as to why the girl had developed feelings for _Lena,_ of all people.

"All clear in here too," said Gemma, shutting the door and turning back to Lena.

"Why?" Lena blurted out.

Gemma raised her eyebrows. "Why what?"

"Why me?" elaborated Lena. "Of all the people you could ask to Hogsmeade, of all the people you could kiss, why me?"

"Because I wanted to," replied Gemma. "Because," she took a deep breath, "I _like_ you."

"But _why_?" persisted Lena, still dumbfounded.

Gemma stared down at her feet, a blush creeping along her cheeks. "You're so smart," she said quietly, scuffing her foot along the floor. "Like, you know _everything_." She looked back up at Lena with a shy smile. "And it's not just that you know all this stuff, but you understand it too. Before you started teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts last year, all I ever really did was memorise facts and learn how to _do_ things." She ran a hand through her hair. "But when I heard you talking about the Dark Arts, and the ways to protect yourself from them, it was the first time I properly realised that there was _more_ to magic. I could have listened to you talk about the simplest jinx for _hours_."

"So, it's because you thought I was a good teacher?" asked Lena, bemused.

"Not just that," said Gemma quickly. "I've always liked that you've never taken shit from anyone."

"You mean my incredibly disproportionate retribution?" inquired Lena flatly.

Gemma bit her lip. "I mean, maybe sometimes you went a tad... overboard," she replied delicately. "But I'm talking more about the little things, like how you kept Flint and Accrington in line during those classes, or how you'd shut down the girls like Selwyn when they tried to act like they owned Slytherin just because they're part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. You're just so... unapologetic, about who you are."

Lena tried to maintain a neutral mask, all the while thinking, ' _Oh, if only you knew._ '

"Also," added Gemma, "you're kind of pretty."

'Kind of pretty', Lena suspected, was a lot more charitable than most people would be. She rubbed her forehead tiredly. In an ideal world, she would have actually taken a moment to imagine what a date with Gemma would be like. But she was living in the real world, where she was sick and could not allow herself to entertain the notion for even the shortest of moments.

"I can't," she mumbled, her eyes closed as she massaged her temples.

"Can't what?"

Lena sighed and opened her eyes. "Go out with you," she said quietly, putting her hands in her pockets. "You're really nice, Gemma – much too nice to be in Slytherin, really. And I do like you more than about ninety-nine percent of the students here. But I can't go on a date with you."

Gemma exhaled slowly. "So you are straight, then," she said, sounding disappointed."I thought – well, I guess my intuition was wrong."

"Hang on," said Lena quickly, "that's not why I'm saying no."

Gemma's brow furrowed. "It isn't? So you aren't?"

"I..." Lena scratched her ear awkwardly. "Erm, to be honest with you, it's something I've never given much thought to," she said. "I suppose I..." she struggled for the right words, "... er, can go either way."

Looking crestfallen, Gemma nodded slowly. "So you're saying it's just me. You're... you're not _into_ me."

"No," said Lena, a little too loudly, starting to feel awful. She had been trying to let Gemma down gently, but now it felt like she was digging herself a deeper hole. "No, like I said before, you're lovely. I just..." She threw her head back and groaned in frustration. "Oh, bollocks, I don't know what to say."

A realisation appeared to strike Gemma, her eyes widening. "Oh, it's okay," she said. "I.. I understand."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "You do?" she asked cautiously. Surely it wasn't possible that Gemma had figured out her illness? Had she noticed that Lena hadn't been using magic for almost the entirety of the year? And if she had discovered part of the truth, did Lena tell her the rest–

"It's Lupin, isn't it."

Lena stared at her, confused. "Sorry?"

"Professor Lupin," said Gemma. "You're in love with him."

As Lena continued to stare at Gemma, three thoughts ran through her mind in quick succession.

The first was what the hell had made Gemma come to that conclusion if she hadn't actually seen Lena and Lupin together since the first couple of weeks of classes last September.

The second was even if Gemma had seen any interaction between Lena and Lupin over the last five months, she couldn't see how anyone could suspect there were romantic feelings involved. It was a strictly platonic relationship - surely that was evident? Yes, occasionally she made jokingly flirtatious comments to him, but she only made them because their connection was clearly so unromantic that Lupin would know to never take them seriously. After all, he was a teacher – it would be totally inappropriate of her to be _in love_ with Lupin.

And the third was not only was the secret of her illness still safe, but Gemma had just given Lena the perfect excuse to turn her down.

"Yes," Lena finally replied, sincerely as she possibly could. "Yes, I love him."

* * *

 _One Minute Earlier:_

Remus was walking along the first-floor corridor, returning from the staffroom to his office, when the sound of someone loudly saying "No" startled him.

He frowned. The only people other than staff allowed to be roaming around the school at this hour were Prefects.

"No," the voice continued, "like I said before, you're lovely."

Remus recognised it as Lena's voice almost immediately. It was coming to his left, from a small corridor that branched off the one he was walking through. She must have been in the middle of doing her Prefect rounds.

"I just..." Lena trailed off, groaning in frustration.

Remus' eyes flicked between his right, where the staircase he needed to climb to get to the next floor was, and the turn into the corridor in which Lena was. He knew he should he have kept going on his way, but he was finding it very difficult to resist the urge to eavesdrop.

"Oh, bollocks," Lena was saying. "I don't know what to say."

He edged closer to the small corridor. He just wanted to know who she was talking to, then he'd move on.

"Oh, it's okay," another girl's voice said. "I.. I understand."

Remus peeked around the corner for half-a-second, which was just long enough to confirm that it was Gemma Farley to whom Lena was talking.

"You do?" asked Lena, sounding uncertain.

' _What are you doing?'_ Remus asked himself sternly. ' _This is their private conversation, it's none of your business._ ' He turned around, taking a step back towards the staircase.

"It's Lupin, isn't it."

Remus froze.

"Sorry?"

 _'Yes, sorry?_ ' thought Remus.

"Professor Lupin," said Farley. "You're in love with him."

There was a long pause, during which Remus could only hear the sound of his heart pounding in his chest.

At last, there came a reply. "Yes. Yes, I love him."

* * *

 **Well, there you go! I'm very interested to see responses to this chapter :)**

 **Clementsc1992: Yes, a romantic relationship is definitely in Lena and Remus' future, otherwise I wouldn't have listed them as a pairing :) But considering one of them is massively emotionally underdeveloped, and the other has some severe werewolf-related self-esteem issues, it might take awhile for them to not only properly develop those feelings towards each other, but actually acknowledge them as well.**

 **Thank you for reading! Please leave a review, if you are so inclined :)**

 **Until next time...**


	27. When the Thread Snaps

**Hello all! Here's Chapter 27 :)  
**

 **Thank you to all the very kind reviewers of the previous chapter, and welcome to everyone who's only recently joined the story, I hope you stick around :)**

* * *

 _Friday 10 February, 1978:_

 _"What do you mean you don't have the map?" screeched Sirius._

 _Peter squirmed. "Filch confiscated everything in my pockets," he said in a small voice._

 _They were in their dormitory. Peter was standing opposite Sirius and James, fidgeting uncomfortably under their angry glares. Remus was sitting on his bed. He'd been trying to finish off a Transfiguration essay before they headed to dinner. It now lay forgotten beside him, his attention completely held by the fact that Peter had just lost the Marauders their most valuable asset._

 _"But the map just looked like a blank piece of parchment, right?" said James. He narrowed his eyes. "Please tell me you hadn't left the map on."_

 _"Of course not," snapped Peter. "I'm not an idiot."_

 _"You just got caught walking around the dungeons with pockets full of dungbombs," Sirius pointed out, "because you forgot where the entrance to the Slytherin common room is – despite the fact we've only been there about a hundred times!"_

 _"Not to mention you actually had the map with you," Remus chimed in._

 _"Exactly," agreed Sirius. "So yeah, the question of your level of intelligence does have to be raised."_

 _"That's not fair," whined Peter, "I didn't have the cloak!"_

 _"You shouldn't have needed it," said James, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "In fact, you shouldn't have tried to pull the prank at all without talking to us first."_

 _"Yeah," said Sirius, "you're supposed to leave the planning to_ us _." He indicated to Remus, James and himself._

 _"Now we're going to have to break into Filch's office to get it back," said James irritably._

 _"That's if he hasn't already thrown it out," said Remus. "I mean, if it just looks like a blank piece of parchment to him, I don't see why he'd keep it."_

 _Saturday 12 February, 1994:_

But Filch had kept the Marauder's Map, and astoundingly, after sixteen years, it had found its way back into the hands of one of its creators.

Remus stared at the map. After he and Sirius had searched Filch's office for it all those years ago and hadn't found it, he'd assumed it had been destroyed, and that he would never see what was perhaps their finest creation ever again. But here it was, and he had found it in the possession of James' son.

Now, he wished he'd asked Harry how exactly he'd come to have the map. At the time, he'd been so angry that Harry had been sneaking out of the castle when a murderer was actively searching for him that he hadn't cared. But now, he was wondering not only how the boy had got it, but for how long he'd had it. Was it simply a coincidence? Clearly, Harry had been unaware of his connection to the map's makers.

He looked down at the spot on the map marked 'DADA teacher's office' and traced his own name, which was written in the centre. Then he noticed that another name was quickly approaching his office.

'Lena Lestrange'.

Remus swallowed, suddenly feeling very nervous. He hadn't seen her since he'd overheard the end of her conversation with Gemma Farley the previous Wednesday night.

When she'd said she was in love with him.

He'd be lying if he didn't admit he was flattered. Lena was unquestionably brilliant – a once-in-a-generation mind. Yes, she was a little... well, _very_ screwed up. On the other hand, she had one of the least antagonistic attitudes towards werewolves that he'd ever encountered. And Remus was so accustomed to his own ill appearance that her own wasn't at all off-putting – to be truthful, he found her quite attractive. Beautiful, even.

He was drawn to her. That much he knew for certain. But in love? He'd have to be either a fool or a glutton for punishment. She was a dying woman. And even if the IHO did find a cure in time, surely loving her would still only end in heartbreak. She was too volatile. If one gave her their heart, there was no knowing what she'd do with it. And he could hardly see Lena ever truly giving her own to anyone else.

' _In fact,_ ' he thought, ' _she probably only_ thinks _she's in love with me. If she weren't sick, the thought would have never crossed her mind_.'

Yes, Lena was just confused. The last five months were the first time she'd ever been without magic, and compounded with her illness, undoubtedly she was unsure of her own future for the first time in her life. And since Remus had been doing his best to comfort her during all of this, she had mistaken her affection for him – their closeness – as love.

Remus glanced down at the map. Lena was in the classroom, about to climb the stairs.

' _Yes,_ ' he decided. ' _She's just making a mistake. And I need to help her see it_.'

"Mischief managed," he muttered, tapping the map with his wand. Just as the ink disappeared, the door opened.

* * *

"Hey," Lena greeted Lupin, closing the door behind her. "Sorry I haven't seen you since – when was it, Monday evening?"

"That sounds about right," said Lupin, folding up a piece of parchment and putting it away in one of his desk drawers.

"Wow, almost a week," said Lena, flopping down into the chair opposite him. "It's just I've been working on this essay about reflections for Dumbledore, and there's basically nothing in the library on the subject, so I've been writing to all these people I know through Valeriya to see if they've got anything useful, and–" She paused. Lupin was staring down at his desk, and Lena got the sense he wasn't really listening. "Erm, is something wrong?" she asked.

Lupin's head snapped up. "What?"

Lena sat up properly, frowning. He was looking at her with a very odd expression, one that she couldn't quite read. Which was unusual, because she generally had a pretty good idea of what Lupin was feeling.

"Is something wrong?" she repeated.

Lupin's eyes flicked down again. "No, no," he said quickly. "Not really."

' _Okay, I'm definitely getting some weird vibes_ ,' thought Lena.

"Well," continued Lupin, glancing back up at her, "there's sort of something. But not wrong, per se." He definitely looked uncomfortable.

Lena folded her arms. "Then what is the something?"

"It's just..." He rubbed his neck awkwardly. "It's just something that's, er, _concerning_ me. A little." He sighed, then leant forward on his elbows, finally looking her directly in the eye. "I just want to firstly say, Lena, that I really do appreciate your openness with me over these last few months. I know it's not something that comes naturally to you, so I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to share so much with me."

"Erm, right," said Lena uncertainly. "You're welcome."

Lupin nodded. "And I really enjoy our discussions. But – well, I am concerned that we've, er... you see, certain things have – how shall I put this – er, have come to... what I mean to say is, I think we might need to, er, perhaps take a step back." He took a deep breath. "From each other."

Lena stared at him. "You know," she said after a short pause, "it kind of sounds like you're breaking up with me. Which is odd, because as far as I'm aware, we're not a couple."

A bark of nervous laughter burst out of Lupin. "Ha! Yes, well..."

Lena was completely at a loss. Why was Lupin acting so flustered? And just what the hell was he talking about?

"I feel like I'm missing something," she said.

Lupin cleared his throat. " _Ahem_. What I'm trying to say, Lena," he said, looking at her earnestly, "is that I'm worried you've got the wrong impression."

"Impression of what?" asked Lena exasperatedly.

"Your feelings," said Lupin. "Towards me."

"My _feelings_?"

Lupin nodded. "More than platonic feelings."

Lena incredulously stared at the Defence teacher, momentarily speechless.

"Obviously," Lupin went on, "we've been spending a lot of time together over the past couple of months, and as I said before, I very much enjoy that time – so I suppose, in some part, that I am to blame for your, er, confusion for not setting out some appropriate boundaries–"

"Okay," said Lena, finally regaining her voice, "let's just hold on a damn second. What, in the name of all that is magical, are you talking about?"

Lupin looked at her with a mixture of embarrassment and sympathy. "Lena, on Wednesday evening, I happened to overhear part of your conversation with Gemma Farley," he said gently.

Lena's eyes widened. ' _Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.'_

"And well, of course it's very flattering," continued Lupin, clearly mistaking Lena's panicked expression for confirmation of her supposed romantic feelings towards him. "But you must understand that for so many reasons, _this_ –" he motioned between Lena and himself, "– could never, er..." He appeared to be struggling for the right phrase.

When Gemma had suggested that Lena was in love with Lupin, she had thought it was the perfect excuse because nobody would get hurt. It had never occurred to her that Lupin might hear about her 'declaration of love'.

' _Well, he shouldn't have been listening in on a private discussion,_ ' thought Lena indignantly. And in any case, she didn't think he would be hurt when he found out she'd been lying – evidently, by the way he was trying to discourage her, he had no such feelings for Lena. So, she'd just tell him the truth – she only said she was in love with him to let Gemma down gently.

Of course, she wouldn't tell him that until _after_ she'd had the opportunity to mess with him. Without magic, she was sorely in need of entertainment, so she wasn't going to miss this chance for some.

Lena stood up so suddenly her chair toppled backwards. "All right, yes!" she cried dramatically. "Yes, I love you!"

* * *

Remus' face paled, and he also quickly stood. "Lena, please–

"When I'm not with you, all I think about is you! When I sleep, I dream about you!" She was gazing at him adoringly.

This was not at all how he'd imagined this conversation going. "I'm sorry Lena, but–" She started moving around to his side of the desk, causing Remus to move backwards in the opposite direction, shaking his head frantically. "But you know I could never–"

"Never what?" asked Lena passionately. With Remus now standing on the other side of the desk, they had swapped their original positions. "Never love me? Never kiss me?"

"I'm a teacher," he protested, his voice unusually high as the image of himself locked in a passionate embrace with Lena flashed in his mind. "You're a student. This is entirely inappropriate!"

"Inappropriate?" scoffed Lena. "You think I give a damn about what's appropriate?" She smacked a hand down on his desk. "I'd let you have me on this desk right now, if you wanted."

" _Lena_!" yelped Remus, his face going bright red. There was another mental image he wasn't going to forget in a hurry.

She quickly moved around the desk, advancing on him once more. "It's been driving me insane, you know," she said breathily, locking eyes with him. "Being so close to you all these weeks. Close enough to _touch_ you–"

Remus began retreating as quickly as he could.

"–Close enough to _kiss_ you."

His back hit the wall, and Lena practically _pounced_ upon him, her hands firmly gripping his shoulders.

 _'Oh dear lord,_ ' thought Remus, as Lena angled her head up towards him, ' _she's going to kiss me_.'

Her body was so close to his that their chests were practically touching. Her eyes, so piercing in their icy colour, stared into his light green ones, and their lips were mere inches apart.

Remus should have still been protesting. He should have been pushing her away. But he wasn't.

 _'She's going to kiss me, and I want her to do it._ ' Not out of love, but a sort of morbid fascination. Just to know, for even a second, what it would be like to be loved by Lena Lestrange.

Her lips now less than an inch away, Remus closed his eyes. But instead of feeling her lips on his, he felt a light breath upon his right ear. Then Lena whispered something into it.

"But of course, we _never_ could."

Remus' eyes flew open as Lena let go of his shoulders, and took a step back, an unmistakable smirk on her face.

Finally, he understood.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You absolute little shit," he growled.

Lena burst into laughter. "Your – face!" she choked out. "Oh, sweet mother of Merlin, you should have seen your face!"

"Hilarious," said Remus darkly, crossing his arms as he continued to glare at her.

"And your voice!" continued Lena between shrieks of laughter. "Bloody hell, when I said the thing about having me on your desk – I didn't realise your voice could go that high." She doubled over, her eyes wet with tears of mirth. "I thought for sure that was when you were finally going to catch on, but you just went with it!" This brought a wave of fresh peals of laughter.

"You're the _worst_ ," grumbled Remus, "you know that?"

Lena straightened, still grinning. "Serves you right for eavesdropping on a private conversation."

"You were in a corridor, it wasn't that private!"

"Are you telling me you only heard what you did as you were walking by?" asked Lena, quirking an eyebrow. "You didn't stop to listen to more?"

"My name got brought up," protested Remus. "What was I supposed to do? Don't act like you wouldn't have done the same thing. Anyway," he added, "if it wasn't the truth, why did you tell Farley that you _did_ love me?"

"Because she asked me out," said Lena, shrugging. "And when she suggested that I said no because I was in love with you, that seemed like a decent excuse that wouldn't hurt her feelings."

"Farley asked you out?" said Remus, surprised.

"Yeah," said Lena, moving back to the desk and taking a seat on its edge. "Tuesday evening. She asked if I wanted to go with her to Hogsmeade today. I wasn't sure then if she meant as a date, but..." She smiled. "Well, she clarified that for me."

Remus looked at her in confusion as he walked over to her. "What do you mean?"

Lena traced her lips with a finger.

"She _kissed_ you?" asked Remus in a slightly strangled voice.

"Yep," confirmed Lena. "And you know, I was so shocked at the time, but looking back on it, it wasn't half-bad." She bit her lip. "To be honest with you, if it wasn't for the illness, I'd probably have said yes."

"Oh," said Remus, trying to keep his voice light as he sat on the chair Lena usually took.

He wasn't jealous. It was a good thing that Lena wasn't in love with him – it made everything much simpler. But there was just something about the idea that she was interested in someone else that didn't sit right with him.

* * *

Lena was relieved when their conversation soon moved away from the topic of Gemma and on to the subject of the essay on which she'd been working. It had felt a little weird mentioning her kiss with Gemma to him, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why.

On Wednesday evening, after Lena had told Gemma that she was right about her feelings towards Lupin, she had asked how she had known.

 _"Every time I mention him, or tell you about his lessons, your eyes... well, I know it's a cliché, but your eyes sort of light up_ ," Gemma had said. " _And sometimes during meals in the Great Hall, when I'm watching– oh, Merlin."_ She had broken off, sounding embarrassed. _"This makes me sound like some kind of stalker."_ Then she had taken a deep breath. _"Okay. In the Hall, often, I'll look at you. But you don't notice. Because you're nearly always looking at him_."

Lena supposed she could see how Gemma had got the wrong idea. Because it was true: she did like to hear Gemma talking about what they did in Lupin's Defence classes, and she did frequently look at him when she ate in the Hall. But neither of those things were because she _loved_ him. Liked him, yes. Cared about him, even. But she certainly wasn't in love with him.

Of course she enjoyed spending time with him – after all, he understood her better than practically anyone. And there was just something so inherently _good_ about him, that to Lena – who was so used to people who were morally ambiguous at best, and unequivocally evil at worst – was so captivating, if not a little endearing too.

But from what Lena understood, to be in love with someone also required an element of _passion_ , of _desire_. And yes, she thought Lupin was quite attractive – scars, grey hairs and all – but surely if she truly desired him, every time she looked at him she'd want to climb him like a tree.

Rather than just on the odd occasion she barged in on him when he'd only just woken up, his hair tousled, and wearing that white t-shirt...

Instead, she was generally content to just sit with him, talk with him, or even argue with him. So obviously, her feelings towards him weren't romantic in the slightest. And it was a good thing Lupin didn't harbour such passion for her either. His discomfort and utter fear when she had 'confessed' her love and pretended to attempt to kiss him had clearly shown that.

' _Good,_ ' thought Lena. ' _The last thing I'd want to do is screw up_ this _friendship too_.'

* * *

 _Friday 25 February, 1994:_

"Yet another fascinating and extremely well-written essay," said Dumbledore, handing her essay on the magical properties of reflections back to Lena. "I thoroughly enjoyed reading it."

"Thank you," murmured Lena, scanning the essay for the headmaster's scribbled comments. There were only a few, but they were all very positive.

"I'm curious to know," said Dumbledore, "if you ever considered a career as an Unspeakable?"

Lena glanced up from the essay, slightly frowning. "No," she told him, "I've never given any thought to working for the Ministry."

"A pity," said Dumbledore mildly. "I would have thought working in the Department of Mysteries would be very much aligned with your interests."

"The work they do, yes," said Lena, turning her gaze back to the essay. "Not so much who they're working for."

Dumbledore made a small "Hmm" noise, but said nothing else, allowing Lena to finish reading his feedback. When she had she put it back down on his desk, she cleared her throat. There was a topic she was rather hoping to finally discuss today.

"Sir," began Lena, "when we talked the first morning back, and I told you about the mark's growth, you said something about the connection between a body and a soul – that it was a longer conversation for another time. Could that time perhaps be our lesson now?"

"I can't see why not," replied Dumbledore, although he looked a little surprised. "May I ask why the sudden renewed interest?"

"Well, I've actually been wanting to ask you about it for a couple of weeks," said Lena. "Ever since I read the case about Ásbjörn Ólafursson." She motioned to the essay.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, nodding. "The wizard who accidentally separated his mind from his body trying to cross into the reflection dimension – a fascinating incident."

"It made me remember what you said," explained Lena. "And now we've finished covering the topic of reflections, I thought it was an appropriate time to have that discussion. Because I was wondering, is the mind a separate thing from the soul? What exactly is the relationship between all three things – body, mind and soul?"

"That is an immensely complex question," said Dumbledore, "and one, I am afraid, I am only going to complicate further by adding a fourth aspect: a wizard or witch's magic."

Lena checked her watch. "Well, I've got nearly an hour before I have to go Potions," she said. "Do you think that's enough time for me to get a good grasp on the basic principles of the matter?"

"I should think so."

After putting the essay away in her bag, Lena pulled out the notebook she used for her lessons with Dumbledore, a quill and some ink. Once she was prepared to write, she asked, "All right, where do we begin?"

"As I said, let us break down a wizard or witch into four key elements: their body, mind, soul, and magic. All four are intrinsically connected. Now, the soul exists within the body, but the only point where the two actually connect is the heart. The soul is attached to it by what is essentially a thread, which acts as a bridge between the two, allowing certain aspects of each to affect the other."

"Like the Orb's magic," muttered Lena, furiously scribbling down everything Dumbledore was saying.

"Exactly," confirmed Dumbledore. "The actual bond made between yourself and the Orb was through your soul, which then crossed that bridge into your heart, and subsequently the rest of your body. Now, when someone dies, that thread is snapped, allowing the soul to detach from the body, and either manifest itself as a ghost – which, of course, is only an option if one is a witch or wizard – or to move on to whatever comes next."

"So is the reason the option of becoming a ghost is only available to us and not muggles or squibs because of how our magic affects our souls?"

"Correct. Magic exits within our blood, so it is able to connect to the soul because–"

"–Because the heart pumps blood through our body," finished Lena. She paused in her writing. "But the body, our blood – those are physical forms of matter. What are souls and magic actually made out of?"

"They are not the exact same material, but they are both different forms of a kind of primordial energy," explained Dumbledore. "Like oil and water – different, but both liquids."

Lena nodded, jotting that down. "Okay. So how about the mind? What differentiates it from our soul?"

"The mind has the capacity to _think_ , to grow and develop. A soul does not."

"Hang on," said Lena, looking up from her notebook and frowning. "What about a Horcrux? Wasn't Riddle's diary thinking for itself? It definitely, erm," she remembered standing so close to Riddle, touching his chest, " _developed_."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers together. "The diary was not a typical Horcrux," he said. "It contained not only a piece of Voldemort's soul, but a great deal of his memories too. And memories are a creation of the mind, not the soul – although they do, for lack of a better word, bleed through into it."

Lena recalled what Harry had told her about actually going within the diary to see one of Riddle's memories. "It worked as a sort of Pensieve."

"An ingenious innovation of magic," admitted Dumbledore, nodding. "I believe that it was in fact those memories, rather than the piece of his soul, that managed to very nearly bring itself to a fully-formed living being. But even if a Horcrux is not also imbued with memories, it can still put up some kind of defence. This is because when a piece of the soul is ripped from the body, it also takes a very small bit of the mind and your magic with it."

"It has an effect on your body too, doesn't it?" said Lena thoughtfully. "Removing part of your soul changes the way you look."

Dumbledore eyed her curiously. "What makes you say that?"

Lena paused. Unlike Harry and Lupin, Dumbledore wasn't fully aware of her history with Voldemort. She knew she should probably tell him, but right now, she was more interested in the subject at hand.

"My parents were pretty high up in the Death Eater ranks," she eventually said, shrugging, "which meant Voldemort was frequently at our house. So I saw his face often enough to remember there was something not quite human about it."

There was a flicker of something across Dumbledore's face – perhaps concern, maybe suspicion – but it had gone by the time he replied, "Yes, I imagine the difference is probably imperceptible if only one Horcrux has been made. But a few more would certainly produce a marked change."

"So murder is one way to damage a soul," said Lena. "And Dementors – that's another way."

"A Dementor has the ability to snap the thread between the soul and body while the victim is still alive," affirmed Dumbledore.

"And it does that by sucking it out," said Lena, "and consuming it. That makes them stronger–" She stopped suddenly, freezing as a realisation struck her.

Dumbledore, noticing an epiphany had occurred, leant forward, looking at Lena with great interest. "What is–"

He was interrupted by the door to his office being violently flung open. Professor McGonagall was standing in the doorway, ashen-faced, and also looking slightly out of breath, as if she'd just ran up the stairs.

"Albus," she said, her voice slightly trembling, "you must come to the hospital wing right now."

Dumbledore stood up quickly. "What's happened?" he asked sharply.

Lena stood up too, quickly stuffing her notebook, quill and ink away in her bag. McGonagall seemed even more distressed than she had last Halloween when she'd burst in on her and Lupin in the courtyard to tell them that Sirius Black had attacked the portrait of the Fat Lady.

It was only at this point that McGonagall seemed to notice Lena's presence as well. Her expression became oddly pitying. "Miss Lestrange," she said, "I think you should come too."

Lena looked at her, surprised. For what reason could her presence possibly be required? As Head Girl?

"But what has happened, Minerva?" repeated Dumbledore urgently, quickly crossing over to McGonagall. Lena slung her bag over her shoulder, following closely behind.

"A student has been attacked," replied McGonagall, "with Dark magic."

Lena opened her mouth to inquire exactly just how Dark the magic used in the attack was, but was stopped by Dumbledore asking, "Which student is the victim?"

McGonagall's eyes lingered for a second on Lena, before she replied, "Maggie Skelton."

* * *

Lena only caught a brief glimpse of Maggie in the hospital wing before she had been whisked off to St Mungo's. Apparently, Madam Pomfrey had taken one look at her and had wasted no time in contacting the healers there. But a glance had been enough for Lena to tell that Maggie had been hit by a Blood Boiling Curse – something that could potentially be fatal if under its influence for too long, and inflict serious, lasting damage after even just a short time.

When Maggie hadn't turned up to Defence Against the Dark Arts despite the fact the class was supposed to be sitting their first practice test for NEWTs, Lupin had sent Gemma and Kahn – after they volunteered – to go look for her. They had found her lying in one of the corridors in the dungeons. There had been several hexes and curses upon Maggie, so the two Prefects had reversed what they could immediately, then brought the still unconscious girl up to the hospital wing, running into McGonagall on the way.

"It's just sick," said Kahn, as he, Gemma and Lena left the hospital wing, heading to the Slytherin Dungeon. "Jinxes, I can tolerate. But a Blood Boiling Curse? That's just messed up."

"I hope Dumbledore expels whoever did it," said Gemma quietly, looking ill.

"Expelled? They'll be lucky if they can avoid a stay in Azkaban."

Lena said nothing. She hadn't really said anything since McGonagall had said who'd been attacked.

If Dumbledore had been paying a little more attention to Lena, he might have noticed the momentary anger and distress that flickered across Lena's face when McGonagall told them, and how quickly it had been replaced by an expressionless mask, an icy calmness in her eyes. And that probably would have concerned him, and he would have ensured that he kept in Lena in his sight until he had a chance to talk with her.

But he was firmly focused on Maggie and the attack upon her, so he'd allowed Lena to go with Gemma and Kahn to the Slytherin Dungeon, to join the rest of their house.

In the wake of the attack, everyone had been sent back to their common rooms. No doubt they were under the impression that Sirius Black had ventured into the castle for the third time. Lena vaguely wondered if any of them would be more horrified when they discovered that a student – or more likely a group of them – were behind this attack.

As Lena had left the hospital wing, she had heard the headmaster and his deputy begin planning their investigation into finding who was behind it.

Maggie was a Muggle-born. Lena had a pretty good idea in which house they could start their search. And although the Blood Boiling Curse wasn't a particularly complex spell, it did require a great deal of confidence and force, and a certain awareness of the Dark Arts. Lena sincerely doubted anyone below NEWT level could have used it.

But the one thing Lena did know, without a trace of doubt, was that what had happened to Maggie was her fault. If she hadn't cut ties with her, nobody would have dared attack her.

Well, Lena was going to find out who did it, and they were going to pay for it.

And she didn't care what it cost her.

She gave Gemma and Kahn a side-long glance. They were both clearly appalled by what had happened to Maggie.

' _Because they're decent people,_ ' thought Lena. 'M _aybe too decent to let me do what I need without trying to intervene._ '

Just as they were about to descend the staircase to the dungeons, she had an idea. "I need you to go round up all the other Prefects," she told them. "I want to hold an emergency meeting about what's happened. I'll go get the others from Slytherin, and you two get everyone from the other houses. I'll see you in our usual meeting room in fifteen minutes."

Gemma and Kahn both looked surprised, but they nodded and turned around, presumably heading off to the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room, as that was the nearest.

"See you soon," Gemma called back.

Lena didn't reply. They wouldn't, but they didn't need to know that yet.

She quickly descended the stairs, and made her way to the stone wall that held the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

" _Potentia_ ," she said, and an opening appeared. She walked through the passageway to the common room. It appeared that almost the entire house was there, and the room was buzzing with their low conversations.

The noise, however, gradually died out as Lena slowly made her way across the room to the glass wall on the other side that looked out into the Great Lake, acutely aware of all the pairs of eyes turning to her.

Lena stopped directly in front of the glass, staring out at the dark, greenish water. Then she turned around to face her housemates, who were all watching her silently.

When she spoke, her voice wasn't loud, but it easily carried across the room. "Anyone not in Seventh Year is to go to their dormitories right now, and stay there until they've been called out."

Most of the students in the younger years hesitantly – with the exception of Tiffany and Eve, who immediately did as Lena asked – stood, as many confused faces looked around at each other.

"Why?" called out a loud, obnoxious voice. The source of it was Draco Malfoy, who was defiantly staring back at Lena.

She met his expression with an icy stare – the same she had used over two years ago when they'd first spoken, and he'd called Maggie a Mudblood.

"Don't ask," she replied coldly. "Just leave."

Evidently, her cousin remembered her expression and tone from that first conversation, because he gulped and nodded, quickly standing up. He hastily made his way to the dormitories, closely followed by his fellow Third Years. The rest of the house took this as their cue too, and soon the common room was empty, with the exception of Lena and her ten fellow Seventh Years. Some were looking at her nervously, while others appeared more blasé.

Lena allowed her bag to slide off her shoulder and fall to the floor beside her.

"I know," she said calmly, "that one of you attacked Maggie Skelton with a Blood Boiling Curse. I am also confident in the suspicion that more of you were involved, either as participants in the assault, or as bystanders. Now, if you were involved, I am going to give you two options. The first, which would be more beneficial to you, is to go to Dumbledore now and admit your guilt, as well as the names of everyone else who is responsible or complicit. Then you will accept whatever punishment he deems appropriate – which, in the case of whoever cast the Blood Boiling Curse, will almost certainly be expulsion."

"And why the fuck," interjected Tara Selwyn, "would anyone do that?"

Lena eyed the thin, blonde girl who was sitting in an armchair with distaste. She had rarely interacted with the girl since beginning their NEWT studies, as they shared so few classes. Now she was reminded of how much she had loathed the girl ever since their First Year.

"Apart from it being the decent thing to do?" she said quietly.

Selwyn let out a nasty laugh. "Decent?" she said derisively, standing up. "The girl's a Mudblood – she doesn't deserve _decency_."

Before Lena could reply, another one of Selwyn's friends who she despised, Flavia Warrington, also stood, sneering.

"Why do you care anyway, Lestrange?" she asked. "Everyone knows you guys haven't been _friends_ –" she pronounced the word with disgust, "–for months."

The rage building inside Lena was completely hidden by her expressionless face and voice. "So that makes it okay, does it?" she said flatly. "That makes her fair game?"

Warrington opened her mouth to reply, but was stopped by Selwyn smacking her arm.

"Don't say anything else, Flavia," Selwyn warned her, before turning her eyes, which glinted with malice, to Lena. "We don't answer to you, Lestrange," she drawled, taking a step forward. "You know, after you finally ditched the Mudblood, I thought maybe you'd finally come to your senses, actually taken some pride in your family name–"

"You see," interrupted Lena, "that's your problem, Selwyn." Her eyes swept across the rest of her housemates. "That's the problem with all morons who think _blood purity_ actually matters." Her gaze snapped back to Selwyn. "You think _pride_ is something to be inherited, rather than earned. You buy into this invention of blood _status_ , because it's so much easier to demand respect than to work for it." Her lips curled in disgust. "You care about your bloodline because you can't be proud of anything else. Because you're _worthless_."

In a flash, Selwyn had drawn out her wand. But before she could even begin to cast a spell, Lena had raised her hand and Selwyn's wand flew out of her grasp. It zoomed through the air straight into Lena's hand, and she promptly snapped it in two.

A jolt of pain shot through Lena, but she ignored it. She knew without a doubt that it was only going to get worse.

Selwyn and her friends, the rest of whom – Dahlia Runcorn and Olivia Bulstrode – had also stood, gaped in horror at her broken wand.

"How _dare_ you?" shrieked Warrington, pulling out her own wand.

"Don't be an idiot, Warrington," said Aloysius Burke, who was perched on the arm of a couch. "She'll just Disarm you and break it too." He looked at Lena with a mixture of interest and apprehension. "So what's the second option, then? You said there were two."

"That I deal with all of you myself," replied Lena.

"All of us?" exclaimed Thaddeus Accrington. "That's not fair, it wasn't any of _us_." He gestured to the five of them who took Defence Against the Dark Arts – himself, Burke, Flint, Terence Higgs and Nicole Bletchley.

"Yeah," said Higgs. "You can ask Gemma and Fakhir, all of us were pretty much together from breakfast to Defence."

"And none of us would use a Blood Boiling Curse," added Bletchley. "You told us last year that you could get sent to Azkaban for using it on someone – we wouldn't risk it."

"Whoever used it," said Accrington, "was one of _them_." He pointed at the other five Seventh Years – Selwyn, Warrington, Runcorn, Bulstrode and Merrick Murton.

"What the hell is wrong with you guys?" hissed Runcorn. "Are you seriously picking a Mudblood over us?"

Flint stood up, drawing everyone's gazes. There was a pause, before he grunted, "I'm with Lestrange."

Selwyn let out a small angry scream. " _Argh_! You're a bunch of Blood Traitors, all of–"

"Enough."

Everyone turned back to Lena. It was the first time she had properly raised her voice since entering the common room.

She threw down the broken pieces of Selwyn's wand onto the floor, then pointed at the members of the Defence class. "You lot, out," she ordered, flicking her hand in the direction of the staircases to the dormitories.

The five of them looked at each other, then silently walked over to the stairs and disappeared down them, leaving Lena alone with the other five.

"Would any of you," Lena asked quietly, "like to make a confession?"

They all stared back at her resentfully, but said nothing.

After an extended period of silence, Lena said, "Perhaps you are unfamiliar with what an admission of guilt is. Allow me to demonstrate: in my First Year, I used Dark magic to attack Lenora Travers, with such consequences that she remains in St Mungo's to this very day."

Their eyes all widened, stunned. No doubt they had all suspected Lena was responsible, but to hear her confirm it was apparently a whole other thing.

Then Selwyn's lips curled into a sneer. "Well then, if you tell Dumbledore that you think any of us attacked Skelton, then we'll tell him what you just told us."

Lena arched an eyebrow. "But he already knows. I told him myself. And you know what he did? He made me Head Girl."

The other five Slytherins looked around at each other, their expressions varying levels of panic-stricken.

"No," continued Lena. "I was just informing you of the fact to provide you with some extra motivation in these last ten seconds I'm giving you to take the first option. Nine... eight... seven..."

Murton suddenly took off in a sprint towards the common room's entrance. Lena's hand shot out, and he was yanked back through the air, as if grabbed by an invisible hand. He landed on his back with a cry of pain.

"... Six..." continued Lena, as the pain inside of her body increased. Usually, it would be enough to make her double over, but now her calm fury allowed her to ignore it. None of it would matter in a few seconds anyway. "Five..."

As Murton struggled to his feet, he pulled his wand out of his pocket. Without hesitation, Lena made a gathering motion with her hands, and his wand, along with those of the three girls who still had theirs, flew out of their hands and into Lena's.

"Four," she said, dropping them too. "Three..."

"What are you going to do?" shrieked Runcorn angrily. "Use the Cruciatus Curse?"

"No," said Lena, pausing her countdown, "that's more my mother's style. I'd like to think I'm more creative than that. Two..."

"You're mental!" shouted Warrington.

Lena gave her a twisted smile. "Oh, you have no idea. One."

Then she clenched a fist, turned around, and punched the glass wall with all her strength – both physical, and magical.

It took one-and-a-half seconds for the cracks to spread the full length across the wall. The moment they reached the edges, all the glass shattered, and the water from the Lake flooded the common room.

* * *

Remus was walking back from the hospital wing, after speaking to Dumbledore about the attack on Maggie Skelton, when he saw a group of nearly twenty students filing into a classroom.

"Hey," he called out, "what's going on here? Why aren't you all back in your common rooms?"

One of the students, Fakhir Kahn, turned around. "We have a Prefect meeting, sir," he said.

Remus frowned. "Organised by who?"

"By Lena," said Gemma Farley, coming out of the classroom. Her brow furrowed. "I'm surprised she isn't here yet."

When Dumbledore had told him that Skelton had been attacked, Remus' first thought had been of Lena. She hadn't talked to him about it much, but it was clear to Remus that since she'd found out about her illness, Lena had pushed away her friend. And whenever she mentioned Skelton or Rolf Scamander, he could see, even just for the briefest of moments, how much Lena missed her best friends. No doubt she'd taken the news of the attack badly – he wouldn't be surprised if she blamed herself.

"Where did you last see her?" he asked Farley and Kahn.

"At the staircase leading down to the dungeons," replied Kahn. "She said she was going to tell the Fifth and Sixth Year Prefects in our house that we had a meeting, and she'd see us up here. And that was over twenty minutes ago."

There was no way it should have taken Lena that long to tell the other Prefects, then make her way here. Something was wrong.

"How did she seem when you spoke to her?" asked Remus, trying to hide the urgency in his voice.

"You know, I thought she might be a bit angrier," said Kahn with a slight frown. "I guess she and Skelton really aren't friends anymore."

Remus went very still, as an inward panic started to take hold of him. "She wasn't angry?" he said anxiously.

"No," answered Farley. "To be honest, she seemed pretty unaffected by it."

Remus swore loudly, startling all the students. They stared at him, stunned a teacher would use such language. But at that moment, Remus couldn't care less what they thought of him.

"Stay here," he warned them.

Farley took a step forward. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Just stay here!"

Remus ran all the way down to the dungeons, his heart pounding loudly in his chest.

If Lena had felt the need to pretend she wasn't bothered by the attack on Skelton, that meant she didn't want to raise anyone's suspicions. Which meant she was planning on doing something that was most likely very dangerous – and not just to whichever idiots had decided to send a Blood Boiling Curse at her best friend, but to herself as well.

And those idiots were undoubtedly with her in the Slytherin common room right now.

Remus had just turned the corner into the corridor on which the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeon could be found, when the stone wall opened, and Lena staggered out.

Black veins were running up her neck.

"You stupid girl!" Remus shouted, unable to contain himself. "What have you done?"

Lena looked at him, swaying on her feet. "What I had to," she whispered. Slowly, she raised her hands and held them in front of her face, staring at them. They were covered in black veins too.

"No," said Remus hoarsely, shaking his head as he quickly closed the distance between them. "No, you didn't–"

He was cut off by Lena violently coughing. Black liquid dripped out of her mouth, dribbling down her chin.

Just as Remus reached her, she met his gaze. "I had to," she repeated quietly. Then her eyes rolled up, and she toppled over, Remus only just managing to catch her before she hit the ground.

* * *

 **Any thoughts? I'd love to hear them :)**

 **Until next time...**


	28. On the Mortal Coil's Edge

**Hello all! It's a double update! Whoo! (At least, I hope it's 'Whoo!')  
**

 **A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I loved hearing your thoughts :) I hope to hear many more regarding these next two...**

 **Just a quick note: Obviously, _Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald_ has just come out, and without spoiling anything, the history of the Lestrange family does play something of a role. So it's possible there are certain things I will write that won't necessarily add up with what we know so far. In saying that, I might make the odd nod to something from CoG every now and then, but it won't ever be anything huge. Just a heads up, in case anyone was wondering :)**

 **And with that said, I hope you enjoy Chapter 28...**

* * *

 _Saturday 26 February, 1994:_

The headmaster's office was unusually silent. There were no mutterings from the portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses; instead, they were all watching the incumbent and the young woman sitting opposite him, who were looking at each other just as soundlessly.

Lena was sitting very still, her black-veined hands folded in her lap. Dumbledore was leaning forward on his elbows, his bearded chin resting on top of his interlocked fingers. Their eyes were direct in their contact.

Then Dumbledore sighed, and leaned back into his chair. "There really is nothing more I can do for you, Lena."

Lena nodded. "I know," she said simply. She had made her choice.

 _As the water rushed into the common room, it parted around Lena, leaving a bubble of air around her. Everyone else was not so lucky._

 _There were screams as the water swept the other five Slytherins off their feet, and pulled them under. Lena could see them through the water, their eyes bulging, desperately trying to reach the surface but being weighed down by their water-logged robes. They were trying to scream, but no sound came out of their mouths, only bubbles._

 _In under thirty seconds, the water had reached the room's ceiling. Lena watched the students struggling, her face expressionless. Runcorn's eyes found her, and the drowning girl desperately mouthed something: 'We did it.'_

 _Lena cocked her head as Runcorn mouthed the words over and over again. To Runcorn's left, Selwyn's thrashing was becoming slower, her eyes glazing over. She started clutching at her throat. It was clear that Warrington, Bulstrode and Murton were also running out of air._

 _If she sent the water back out now, and offered them the choice to confess to Dumbledore again, Lena was certain that they would take it over drowning. But she had given them a deadline for that option, and they had passed it. They had to face the consequences for that decision – Lena's consequences._

"If someone did what he did to somebody you cared about, you'd kill them."

 _Lena went still as Harry's words echoed in her head._ "Perhaps I would _," she had replied back then. Now, she was about to find out._

 _There would be consequences for her for killing these students. But the biggest consequence meant she wouldn't have to live with the rest of them for very long. No, she'd just die with the reputation of being a murderer. At least she wouldn't leave behind a legacy of weakness._

 _Runcorn was the last of the five to stop struggling. None were dead yet, but they would be in less than a minute. But now, Lena couldn't get Harry's face out of her mind._

"But I'm trying to be better now _," she had told him when they spoke after the Chamber of Secrets."_ I promise."

 _Harry had believed her when she'd promised him. He hadn't needed to – nevertheless, he had. And Lena owed him for that._

 _Dying was no excuse for breaking a promise._

 _As quickly as the Lake's water had flooded the room, it rushed back out. The glass from the wall reassembled itself, sealing off the common room. Five bedraggled bodies now lay on the ground. Turning to their sides, they coughed the water out of their lungs._

 _"I'll give you five minutes to recover," said Lena quietly, and five pairs of terrified eyes turned to her. "Once you can walk and talk, you will go straight to Dumbledore and tell him what role you played in the attack on Skelton."_

 _There was no need for an 'or else'. She knew they would do it. She had done what had to be done._

 _Leaving her housemates still shivering and spluttering on the floor, Lena exited the common room, only just able to conceal the fact that now she could barely keep herself upright._

"Would you have killed them, if they hadn't confessed?"

Lena shrugged. "Honestly," she said, "I couldn't tell you."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Four voluntary withdrawals, and one expulsion," he commented. "I should really be adding one more name to that list."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "But you're not?"

"I don't think there would be much point to that." There was an uncharacteristic dryness to Dumbledore's voice. "We won't get the blood test results until tomorrow night at the earliest, but I can't imagine you have more than a month left – most likely not even that."

After Lena had passed out, Lupin had brought her straight up to Dumbledore's office. She'd been unconscious for about twelve hours, during which time Dumbledore had taken a blood sample and sent it off to the IHO. Not that it really mattered – the fact that the black veins had almost reached her jaw was enough of an indication of how much time she had left.

"Besides," Dumbledore added, "none of your housemates admitted to your... _involvement_ in their decisions to come forward. According to them, their confessions were completely of their own volition." He raised his eyebrows. "Remarkably considerate of Tara Selwyn to snap her own wand in half, and save a Ministry official the bother."

"How long do you think her sentence will be?" asked Lena, mildly curious.

"Six months," replied Dumbledore, "going by previous similar instances."

"There's not going to be a lot of Seventh Year Slytherins left," remarked Lena.

"A smaller than usual group," said Dumbledore. "I'm sure Miss Skelton's absence over the next few weeks will be keenly felt too."

Lena looked down at her lap so that Dumbledore would not see the feelings of pain and guilt that had crossed her face. One of the first things that the headmaster had told her when she'd woken was that the St Mungo's healers had said that Maggie would eventually make a full recovery, but would have to remain in the hospital for at least two more weeks.

' _She wouldn't be there in the first place if I hadn't pushed her away,_ ' thought Lena. It had been stupid of her to think she'd been protecting Maggie.

"And what will you do?"

Lena glanced up at Dumbledore. "Do?"

"Over these next few weeks," clarified Dumbledore, although his omission of the word 'last' hung uncomfortably in the air.

Lena considered this. "I think I'd like to go to the Lestrange Estate," she finally said. "The time I spent there as a child might not have been the happiest, but it is mine. I think it's the place to spend my remaining days."

"I see," replied Dumbledore. "When do you wish to leave?"

"Would tomorrow be all right?" asked Lena. "Or would you prefer me to go immediately?"

"I think we can delay your departure until tomorrow."

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

Dumbledore inclined his head. There was a pause, before he said, "There is something I would like to ask you. Yesterday, just before Professor McGonagall arrived, you appeared to come to some sort of realisation concerning Dementors and souls. What was it?"

Lena smiled bitterly. She hadn't forgotten her epiphany. How could she, now her death was so imminent. "I figured out from where Hecate's Orb gets its power," she explained quietly. "See, if the consumption of a soul strengthens a Dementor, and Dementors are creations of the Orb, then it stands to reason that's what the Orb does: when it kills a person, instead of the soul being able to move on, it's absorbed into it."

Dumbledore frowned. "But that means..." His eyes widened slightly.

"Yes," said Lena. "When the Orb's magic finally kills me, my soul won't move on. I won't even have the option of becoming a ghost. The Orb will take it, and there'll be nothing left of me."

"And even knowing that," said Dumbledore softly, "you still decided to use magic, and cut your life even shorter."

Lena didn't reply.

She had made her choice. The only thing left now was to make sure she didn't go back on it.

* * *

As Lena climbed the stairs to Lupin's office, she removed the scarf Dumbledore had given her to hide the black veins on her neck as she walked through the castle. She didn't need to conceal them from the Defence teacher.

Reaching his door, Lena paused before knocking on it, swallowing nervously. Her final memory before she had passed out yesterday was of Lupin rushing towards her, his face both angry and frightened. She wondered how much he now knew of what had happened in the common room.

Steeling herself, she knocked. There came a sound of hurried movement from within, and a few seconds later the door was pulled open, and Lena was greeted by the sight of a dishevelled Lupin. She couldn't be entirely sure, but he seemed to be wearing the same shirt and trousers as the previous day. He had, however, discarded his robe and tie, and his sleeves were rolled up. His hair was messy, sticking up at odd angles, and he looked even more tired than usual, as if he hadn't slept at all last night.

"Hi," said Lena quietly.

About half a dozen different emotions passed over Lupin's face at once, too quickly for Lena to identify all of them. His right hand jerked, as if he was going to reach out and touch her, but then decided against it. At last, his expression settled, becoming surprisingly stony.

"You're not dead, then," he said, an unexpectedly cold indifference to his voice.

"Not yet," replied Lena, trying to hide her discomfort at the hard stare he was giving her.

"How long?" he asked after a short pause.

"Probably three weeks," answered Lena, struggling to maintain eye contact when all she wanted to do was look at anywhere but him. "Maybe four."

Lupin nodded jerkily. Then there was another painful silence.

After about ten seconds, Lena was unable to bear anymore, and broke it. "May I come in?" she asked cautiously.

A muscle twitched in Lupin's clenched jaw. It took a few seconds for him to reply, "Yeah, you might as well." Then he turned around and went over to his desk.

Hesitantly, Lena crossed the threshold and shut the door. She watched Lupin as he stood behind his desk, shuffling through a pile of papers and resolutely not looking at her. But the tension in his posture was evident.

Lena crossed her arms tightly, almost hugging herself. She felt confused; she didn't know what she had expected from Lupin, but whatever it'd been, it wasn't this.

"When did you wake up?" asked Lupin abruptly, his gaze still fixed on his desk.

Lena glanced at her watch. "Around two hours ago," she said. Feeling the need to elaborate, she added, "I came here as soon as I finished talking to Dumbledore."

Lupin acknowledged this with a "Hmm" noise, but still didn't look up at her.

There was yet another long, uncomfortable silence, before Lena said, "Aren't you going to ask me what happened yesterday?"

In response, she received an almost derisive snort from Lupin. "Why would I need to?" he asked tersely, picking up a quill to make a note on a piece of parchment. "It's fairly obvious what happened: you got mad about the attack on your friend and used magic to inflict some form of torture upon your housemates so they would confess. What else do I need to– _bugger_!" He had clenched the quill so tightly that it had snapped in two.

Lena watched, bewildered, as he threw the two halves of the quill into a bin with considerable force, then leant forward against the desk, his back to her. He was gripping the edges so tightly his knuckles were white. The indifference, it seemed, was a facade.

"Are you _mad_ at me?" she asked, incredulous.

Lupin went rigid. Then slowly, he turned around to face her.

"Mad at you?" he said quietly, staring at her with an unsettling intensity. Then he smiled bitterly. "Bloody hell, I want to be."

Lena was so disconcerted by his expression and tone that she almost took a step back. His whole demeanour was making him almost unrecognisable to her.

"But I'm not allowed to be," continued Lupin, turning around and snatching up another quill, "am I? Because I wasn't allowed to be mad at James and Lily for not accepting Dumbledore's offer to be their Secret Keeper, when that obviously would have been the safest choice." He finished writing his note and threw the quill back down on the desk. "I'm not allowed to be mad at Peter for being an idiot and getting himself blown up by Sirius." He turned back to Lena. "So why should this be any different?" he asked, clenching his fists. "I mean, you were just trying to get justice for your friend, right? So what right do I have to get angry at you for putting her life above your own? Why would I be allowed to be _mad_ at you, when you're going to be _dead_ in less than a month?"

The venom in his voice made Lena flinch. It was the first time he'd been angry at her since he'd found out about her history with Voldemort.

"You have to understand," she began to say, but was cut off by Lupin.

"No, _you_ have to understand," he said heatedly, taking a step closer to her. "When I was leaving Dumbledore's office, after taking you up there, I didn't know if I was ever going to see you again. I thought maybe that was it, that you were gone." His face almost spasmed with conflicting emotions. "And I – I– _Ugh_!" he shouted in frustration, closing his eyes and clutching his temples.

Lena was so focused on Lupin's face that she barely noticed her hands were trembling. When she had made her decision to use magic, she had done so with the full knowledge of the consequences for her. She hadn't considered what effect it might have on anyone else.

Lupin's hands dropped back to his sides and he opened his eyes. His expression appeared to regain some of its former bitter calmness, and he moved back to his desk.

"I've known you for less than six months, Lena," he said, tidying up the stacks of parchment and putting the quill back in the pot that held his others. "Not even six months. And in that short time..." He paused, looking up at her. "You made me care about you," he finally said. "More than I've cared about anyone in a long time." He looked down at his feet and shook his head slightly, chuckling mirthlessly. Still staring down, he continued, "Because that's what you do, isn't it? You keep a wall up between yourself and everyone else, and then the moment you open up to one of us," his eyes flicked back up to her, "you suck us in."

A lump was forming in Lena's throat, making it hard to breathe. Her head was a whirlwind of emotions and confusion.

"We're like moths to a flame," said Lupin, sitting on the edge of the desk, and shoving his hands in his pockets, "not caring if we get burnt. Because to be worthy of _Lena Lestrange's_ attention means that there has to be something special about us, right?" He laughed again, harsh and disbelieving. "I mean, fucking hell – you even made _Lord Voldemort_ care about you!"

Unable to put a voice to anything she was feeling at that moment, Lena blurted out, "What happened to having boundaries?"

"What happened to eight or nine years?" responded Lupin coldly.

Lena recoiled. The way he was looking at her made her want to hide.

' _No_ ,' an indignant internal voice said, ' _he doesn't get to make you feel bad about this. He has no idea what it's been like_.'

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said simply. "I'm sorry if this hurts you. I really am. And I wish that having people in my life that I care about was enough reason to keep going, to continue living for as long as I can." She smiled sadly. "But it isn't enough. Not for me. I realised that yesterday when faced with the choice of doing nothing for Maggie, or ensuring that her attackers were punished." She shrugged slightly. "I can't see the point in clinging onto a life where I'm useless."

Lupin frowned. "You're not useless, Lena."

"But I am," said Lena quickly. "Without magic, I am. Without magic, I'm not really me." She moved closer to Lupin. "I think the main reason I held on as long as I did was because of you. You made it bearable."

"Not bearable enough," muttered Lupin, looking down.

Without really thinking about it, Lena reached out and gently cupped his chin, tilting it back up. It was bristly, as he obviously hadn't shaved today. Lupin's eyes widened slightly at the intimacy of her gesture, causing Lena to quickly let go.

"If you knew what I felt every morning these past five months when I've woken up and remembered I can't use magic," she said, "you'd understand just how much your friendship has meant to me, Professor."

Lupin gazed at her intently, then quietly said, "You might as well call me Remus, seeing as it's been a couple of months since I actually taught you anything."

Lena gave him a small smile. "If you wish. Actually, as of tomorrow I'm no longer a student here, so I suppose that would be quite appropriate."

"What do you mean ?" asked Lupin concernedly, standing up. "Dumbledore expelled you?"

"No, I'm voluntarily leaving," explained Lena. "I've decided to spend my last few weeks at the Lestrange House."

Pain flickered across Lupin's face when she said 'last few weeks'. Then he bit his lip.

"It doesn't have to be, though, does it?" he said slowly. "If you contacted Valeriya , and asked her–"

"I'm not asking Valeriya to bring me the Orb," interrupted Lena.

"But Lena," he pleaded, grabbing her hands and holding them tightly, "you told me yourself, you've changed so much in the last six years. If you had it again now, things would be different–"

"No, they wouldn't," said Lena quietly. She sighed."Remus, I didn't need to threaten and hurt those students. If all I cared about was finding the truth, I could have just used Legilimency." She gazed into his eyes imploringly. "I hurt them because I _wanted_ to. I _enjoyed_ drowning them. I wanted to _kill_ them. And I would have done, if it wasn't for the promise I made Harry."

"What promise?" asked Lupin – _Remus_.

"That I try to be a better person. And asking Valeriya for the Orb would be breaking that."

"But–"

"And I've told Dumbledore that in my last week, when I inevitably start asking for the Orb, that under no circumstance does he allow it to fall into my possession." She swallowed, trying to stop the lump forming in her throat again. "No matter how much I beg for it."

Remus stared back at her hopelessly. He opened his mouth, but it took a few attempts for any sound to come out. At last, he whispered, "But you'd be _alive_."

Lena felt a painful twinge in her heart, and this time, she didn't think it was because of the Orb's magic.

* * *

 _Sunday 27 February, 1994:_

A cool, gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the Forbidden Forest. There was a chill in the air, but with the scarf around her neck, Lena barely noticed it. Her attention was fixed on the Thestrals milling around in front of her. She had decided to pay them one last visit before she left Hogwarts in less than a hour.

Mortimer was perched on her shoulder. He hadn't left her side since she'd returned to her dormitory the previous evening. Lena wasn't sure if he fully understood what was happening to her, but he was aware of enough to be worried about her.

She'd had an ulterior motive for coming down to Forest that afternoon. It had been her plan to tell Mortimer to go off exploring, and then depart before he found her again. She didn't want the bowtruckle to have to watch her over the next few weeks as her life gradually ebbed away. But now, she didn't want to leave him. Mortimer had been her most constant companion over the last four years – saying goodbye to him was too painful. Which was why she had planned to sneak off without saying it, but it turned out just the act of leaving him behind was more unbearable than she'd imagined.

Lena had already said goodbye once today, even if Harry hadn't realised that was what she'd been doing. She had framed it more as 'au revoir'.

 _"You're leaving?" said Harry, dismayed._

 _"My health has worsened," Lena told him. "Considerably. I need to take some time away from Hogwarts."_

 _They were in the secret semi-circle room at the top of the tower. Lena was perched on the arm of one of the chairs, and Harry was standing opposite her._

 _"But when will you be back?" he asked._

 _Lena did her best to keep her face neutral. "I don't know," she said, "but I suspect it won't be any time soon."_

 _"Why aren't you going to St Mungo's?"_

 _"Nobody there has any experience with my... affliction," explained Lena._

 _Harry frowned. "But somebody does, right? And they're going to take fulltime care of you at your house?"_

 _Lena nodded. "Dumbledore's arranged somebody to look after me." She didn't tell Harry that the somebody was just one of the Hogwarts' house-elves, and the care would be more palliative in nature than healing._

 _Biting his lip, Harry nodded. Unhappiness, however, was clearly written upon his face._

 _Lena sighed, and pulled off the gloves she'd been wearing to hide the black veins on her hands. Harry blanched at the sight of them, but before he could say anything, Lena said, "Come here," and gestured for him to move closer to her. He did so, and she reached out to take his hands in her own. Holding them firmly, she said softly, "I know this year has been difficult for you, Harry – the Dementors around Hogwarts, finding out the truth about Sirius Black. But I know you'll get through it all." She gave him a small smile. "Because you're brave. And..." She hesitated, unsure of whether to tell him what she wanted._

 _"What?" asked Harry, after a few seconds of silence._

 _Lena made up her mind. "Because I know," she said, earnestly looking into his eyes, "that when it comes down to it, you'll do the right thing. No matter what."_

 _'_ Even when you find out you're a Horcrux,' _she thought._ 'You'll do the right thing, even then. _'_

 _Harry stared back at her for a few moments, then nodded slowly. "I'll try," he murmured._

 _"I know you will," whispered Lena. She held his hands a couple of seconds longer, then let go. "Right," she said briskly, "seeing as I'm not going to be able to check your homework any time soon, let's go over everything you've done so far this term, and what's likely to come up for the rest of the year. We'll start with Charms."_

After they had finished their impromptu tutorial session, Harry had told Lena that he would write to her. She wondered how many letters she would get to read.

She was brought out of her reverie by the sound of footsteps behind her. Expecting it to be Hagrid, Lena turned around to promise him it would be the last time he would catch her out-of-bounds in the Forest, only to be shocked when she saw that it was in fact Rolf who was approaching.

He, however, didn't seem at all surprised to see her there. He came to a stop a couple of metres away from Lena. His hands were jammed in his pockets, and he was regarding her with an odd expression.

They hadn't spoken to each other in nearly five months, and for whatever reason Rolf had sought Lena out, he appeared to be struggling to put it into words. So for a short while, an awkward silence hung between them.

At last, Rolf broke it. "Hagrid told me you'd probably be in here."

Lena nodded uncertainly. "Right."

Rolf pursed his lips. After another pause, he said, "There's a story going around that you're the reason Selwyn and the others confessed to attacking Maggie."

Lena didn't reply.

"Is it true?" asked Rolf, when a response wasn't forthcoming.

"Why do you care?"

Rolf took a step forward. "Because that doesn't sound like the Lena Lestrange of the last five months. It sounds like the Lena who used to be one of my best friends. And I wasn't sure if she still existed." He crossed his arms, and raised his eyebrows. "So does she?"

Lena bit her lip, and pushed a loose strand of hair back up to where the rest of it was piled on top of her head."It's complicated," she said.

"Fuck you."

His sudden coarseness actually made Lena take a step back. "I'm sorry?"

"Fuck you, Lena," repeated Rolf, glaring at her. "'It's complicated' is a shit answer, and you know it. I deserve more than that."

Lena stared at him. She wasn't used to Rolf being so assertive – Maggie had normally been the one to call Lena out.

But Maggie wasn't here right now to do that – because Lena had pushed her away. So Lena made up her mind.

"I'm dying," she said bluntly.

Rolf's expression turned from angry to stunned in a heartbeat. "What?"

"I've been sick since September," said Lena, "and I thought I had years left, but now I've only got a few weeks."

Rolf looked at her in disbelief. "Since September?" His eyes widened in realisation. "That's why you ended things with us?"

"I thought everything would be simpler if you just hated me," explained Lena, shrugging. "Maybe it was arrogant of me, but I thought it would be unkind to let you watch me die." She pulled off her scarf, showing Rolf the black veins.

Rolf stared at her neck, aghast. "What happened?"

"To cut a long story short, I messed with a Dark artefact when I was eleven. It... _infected_ me, but that infection remained dormant until last September, when it started to spread. The only way to slow it down was to not use my magic. But on Friday I did."

"For Maggie," muttered Rolf, his eyes still fixed on the veins.

"That was the motivating factor. But also..." Lena took a deep breath. "Also because I was sick of not living as a witch."

"Hang on," said Rolf, his gaze snapping back up to her face, "are you saying you haven't been using magic this entire year?"

"Pretty much."

"But how can we have not noticed?" Before Lena could respond, Rolf answered his own question. "Your private lessons with Dumbledore – that was to hide it!"

Lena nodded.

"So Dumbledore knows that you're–" Rolf abruptly stopped, his face paling. "Merlin," he croaked, "you're dying." It seemed the fact was only sinking in now.

"Yes," said Lena quietly.

Rolf's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Bloody hell, Lena. Why didn't you tell us?"

"As I said, I didn't want to cause you and Maggie any pain."

"But we're your friends!" cried Rolf, moving closer to her. "That's what friends are supposed to do – be there for each other, even when it's hard!"

Lena shrugged. "It just seemed selfish to me."

She froze as Rolf suddenly wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

"Asking people to care about you isn't selfish, Lena," he said. "It's... well, it's human."

"You sound like your grandfather," said Lena softly.

Rolf drew back slightly so he could look at her. "Good," he said matter-of-factly. "He's a very intelligent man."

"Yeah," whispered Lena. "He is." And unable to restrain herself, she threw her arms around Rolf's neck and hugged him tightly. "I'm so sorry," she apologised, her body beginning to tremble. "I'm so sorry for hurting you and Maggie, I thought it was the right thing to do, but it wasn't, and I'm sorry–" She broke off as a sob burst out.

She couldn't see Rolf's expression, but she could hear the surprise in his voice when he said, "Lena!"

"And – I'm – never – going – to – see – Maggie – again!" Lena choked out between sobs, tears streaming down her face. "I'm – going – to _die_ – with her – _hating_ me!"

"She won't hate you, Lena," said Rolf, rubbing her back. "I'll tell her what you did for her, why you pushed us away."

Lena couldn't formulate a reply; she was crying too much.

They stood there like that – the weeping Lena clinging to Rolf, who had also started to cry – until Lena had no more tears left. Reluctantly, she disentangled herself from Rolf and checked her watch.

"I have to head back up to the castle now," she told him, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I'm supposed to be leaving in half an hour."

"Leaving?" asked Rolf, frowning. "What do you mean? Where are you going?"

"To the Lestrange Estate," said Lena, pulling the scarf out of her robe pocket. Mortimer, who had crawled into the pocket while she and Rolf had been hugging, was clinging to the scarf. Holding the bowtruckle in one hand, she put the scarf back on with the other. "I'm going to spend my last few weeks there."

"But there's so much you haven't told me–"

"I'll write a letter," promised Lena. "To explain everything I don't have time to now." She smiled sadly. "I owe you that"

Rolf nodded slowly, his expression miserable. "So this..." He trailed off as his eyes began to leak once more.

"This is goodbye," Lena finished for him gently. Looking at Mortimer in her hand, an idea struck her. "Rolf, will you do me a favour?"

"Anything."

Lena held out the hand holding Mortimer. "I need you to take Mortimer."

Mortimer's tiny eyes widened, and he started making frantic squeaking noises. He tried to climb back up her arm, but Lena grabbed him firmly with her other hand.

"He needs a human companion," continued Lena, "and you know how to take care of him." She tried to hand Mortimer to Rolf, but the small, green creature squealed and struggled desperately. Sighing, Lena raised him so their eyes were level. "You can't stay with me, Mortimer. You have to go with Rolf."

Mortimer shook his head wildly, clinging to Lena's hand.

"I'm going to be dead in a month's time," she said, trying to reason with him. A small, choking noise escaped Rolf, as he tried to hold back a sob. Lena did her best to ignore it. "Do you want to be on your own after I die?"

Mortimer hung his head, letting out a small defeated noise.

"I thought not," said Lena. She held him back out to Rolf, and this time Mortimer allowed himself to be taken, although his thin arms feebly reached out for Lena.

"I'll look after him, Lena," said Rolf earnestly. "I promise."

"I know you will." She took one last look back at the Thestrals, who had all been intently watching her conversation with Rolf. Then she turned back to her friend, and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for everything," she whispered.

Rolf opened his mouth, but no words came. Instead, he, Mortimer and the Thestrals watched in silence as Lena left the Forbidden Forest for what she supposed would be the last time.

* * *

 _Thursday 10 March, 1994:_

It was the third time Remus had been to the Lestrange Estate in the last two weeks, but as he walked down the path leading to the front door, it was still difficult not to be awestruck by Lena's ancestral home. He remembered being stunned by the size of James' parents' house when he was a teenager, but the Lestrange House was a whole other beast.

It was three storeys high, and almost five hundred feet in width, an enormous stone building that looked like something out of a gothic fairytale. It certainly looked the part of someone like Lena's home; yet it still perplexed Remus that she had decided to spend her last days in a place that held so many awful memories. Even he'd felt sickened the first time he'd entered the house, vividly recalling Lena's memory of her mother using the Cruciatus Curse on her.

' _But it's also the site of her happiest memory_ ,' he had remembered , which hadn't done anything to lessen the queasy feeling in his stomach. The first time he had visited Lena in her room, it had been impossible not to think about all the times Voldemort had been there – and how much Lena had looked forward to _those_ visits.

After Remus had spoken with Lena the Saturday before the last, he had gone to see Dumbledore to request permission to leave the school grounds, if he had the spare time, to visit Lena at her home. Dumbledore had acquiesced without hesitation, not appearing to find his member-of-staff's desire to visit one of the students at her house at all strange or inappropriate. On the contrary, he seemed to regard the closeness that had developed between the werewolf professor and the dying Head Girl as quite natural.

Reaching the front door, he grasped the iron doorknocker, which was underneath a giant engraving of a raven, and banged it against the door three times.

After five seconds, the door was pulled open, to reveal a house-elf.

"Professor Lupin!" said Tizzy, with a big smile. "Tizzy is very glad you are here! Miss Lena has been very much looking forward to your visit today!"

"How is she?" asked Lupin, stepping inside. Tizzy held her hands up for Remus' robe, which he slipped off and gave to her. "Thank you."

Tizzy's smile had faltered slightly when Remus asked about Lena. "Miss Lena is..." She hesitated. "... Is in good spirits," she eventually said, throwing Remus' robe onto the coat rack.

"I see," said Remus, drawing his lips into a thin line. Although he had only seen her twice since she'd left Hogwarts, the deterioration of her health had been very obvious both times. The entire day he had been worrying about just how much worse she would be when he saw her that evening – a valid concern, apparently.

"Can Tizzy get Professor Lupin anything?" asked Tizzy, plastering the fake smile back on her face. "A cup of tea?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," said Remus distractedly, his mind preoccupied by Lena's rapidly deteriorating condition. "I'll head up to see her now."

"If Professor Lupin is sure he can find his way–"

"I am," interrupted Remus, walking further into the house. Worried he'd been a little too brusque with the house-elf, he looked back at Tizzy, whose ears had started to droop. "Thank you, Tizzy," he added, trying to give her a grateful smile.

Tizzy nodded, then disappeared with a pop, no doubt to the kitchen to make Remus his tea.

Navigating his way through the many corridors and staircases, Remus eventually found himself outside Lena's room. He took a deep breath, then knocked on the door.

"Come in."

He opened the door to see Lena was sitting in her bed, leant up against a stack of pillows, a book in her hands. Her hair was in a loose plait that fell down in front of her shoulder. For as long as he had known her, she had always looked unhealthily thin. Now, she was practically skeletal.

She smiled at Remus. "Hey," she greeted him.

"Hi," replied Remus, with half-hearted attempt at returning the smile. He crossed over to Lena's bed.

Lena held up the book she was reading to show him the cover.

Remus raised his eyebrows. " _Hamlet_?"

"It's excellent," Lena told him. "Do you know anything about it?"

Remus took a seat on the edge of the bed. "It's one of Shakespeare's, isn't it?" he said, trying to remember his mother's collection of literature. "A tragedy?"

Lena nodded. "About a son seeking revenge for his father's murder. But so much more than that too."

"Yeah? How so?"

"Well, Hamlet's a bit of a philosopher," explained Lena, flicking back through the book. "There was this speech he gave about halfway through, and it was just so good. You've probably heard the opening line: 'To be or not to be'."

"This is what it's from?"

"Yeah," replied Lena, her eyes scanning the pages. "Here it is." She glanced up at Remus. "Just listen to this..." She cleared her throat, then began to read aloud: "To be, or not to be, that is the question: whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To die – to sleep, no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to." She paused, looking back up at Remus, smiling. "Brilliant, isn't it?"

As Lena had been reading, Remus' expression had slowly settled into a frown. "It sounds awfully like he's contemplating whether to kill himself or not."

"Exactly," said Lena. "He's debating whether it's better to live a life of suffering, or to end that life and move on to whatever might come next – even though we don't know if what awaits us is worse. It's about the certainty of pain versus the fear of the unknown. Here..." She began reading again. "To die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub: for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause—there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life." Lena gazed at the page, shaking her head in amazement. "It's just incredible how he articulates it."

"Hamlet?"

Lena chuckled. "No, Shakespeare." She gestured to her bedside table, upon which sat a pile of books. "I've read eight of his plays so far – _Hamlet_ 's the ninth, and I'm almost done – and there's something just unbelievably good in all of them." She briefly grimaced. "Except _The Taming of the Shrew_. That's just dodgy. But–" She reached over and grabbed a piece of parchment lying next to the pile of books, "– listen to these."

"What is that?"

"Oh, I've been writing down all the really good lines," replied Lena casually. "I was hoping to find a good one to use as an epitaph on my gravestone."

Remus suddenly stood, clenching his fists. "Stop it," he snapped.

Lena arched an eyebrow. "Stop what?"

"Being so fucking flippant about it," hissed Remus. "It's not – not–"

"Not what?" asked Lena, her tone becoming colder. "Not fair on _you_?"

Remus sighed exasperatedly. "You know that's not what I meant."

"It's not what you intended to say," corrected Lena. "But I think it's exactly what you feel."

"Lena, I just–"

He was interrupted by Lena beginning to violently cough. Black liquid spattered her bed sheets, narrowly avoiding the parchment in her hand.

Remus quickly grabbed a handkerchief off her bedside table, sat down on the bed next to her, and held the handkerchief against her mouth.

The coughing fit lasted two minutes. When it had stopped, Remus removed the handkerchief, and Lena flopped back against the pile of pillows, breathing heavily.

There was a cup of the bedside table, but it was empty. Remus pulled out his wand. " _Aguamenti,_ " he muttered, and the cup filled with water. Putting his wand down on the table, he picked up the cup. As he placed his hand on the back of Lena's head and tilted it forward, he couldn't help but be reminded of Lena's memory of Voldemort doing the same thing for her after the Cruciatus Curse.

After Lena had taken a sip of water, she murmured, "Thanks."

"How many times a day is it happening now?" asked Remus quietly, putting the cup back on the table.

"Six, yesterday. That was the fourth time today." She smiled weakly. "But the night's still young."

"I'm sorry," said Remus, feeling awful, "I shouldn't have upset you–"

"Don't be an idiot," interrupted Lena, giving him a withering look. "The fits are going to happen regardless of your temperament." She pushed herself up so she was sitting again, and looked down at the parchment. "I just think it's remarkable," she said softly. "What this man, this muggle, was able to create without magic." She looked up at Remus. "Do you think it holds us back, being wizards and witches?"

"From what?"

"From being great artists," clarified Lena. "Let's face it: the pinnacle of accomplishment in Wizarding literature is _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , and even they don't match any of the Muggle greats. And it's not just stories, but music and art too." She cocked her head. "Maybe because of the things we can do with magic, we lack the imagination required to create something truly inspiring – a work of genius."

Remus stared at her. There was such a quiet passion in her eyes as she spoke, something he didn't think he ever quite seen in them before.

"What?"

Remus blinked, snapped out of his trance. "Sorry?"

"You were looking at me strangely," said Lena, twirling the end of her plait around her fingers.

"Oh," said Remus, smiling nervously, "I was just wondering how long this had been on your mind."

Lena shrugged. "I've only really been thinking about it over the last couple of days. There hasn't exactly been a lot for me to do other than read and think."

Remus' jaw tightened, but he nodded. He tried to think of something helpful to say, but before he could, there was a _pop_ , and Tizzy appeared in the centre of the room, carrying a tray with a cup of tea, and small, chocolate cake. He looked at the cake, confused. He hadn't asked Tizzy for it.

"Happy birthday."

He looked at Lena, who was smiling softly.

"How did you know?" he asked, stunned.

Lena nodded at Tizzy. "House-elves are very good at finding these sort of things out." She crossed her legs, and patted the spot in front of her. "You can put it here, Tizzy," she told the elf.

As Tizzy complied, Lena gestured for Remus to sit opposite her. He did so, his mouth almost watering at the smell of the chocolate cake.

"Is there anything else I can get Miss Lena?" inquired Tizzy.

"That's all for now, Tizzy," answered Lena. "Thank you."

The house-elf nodded, and disappeared once again.

"Thirty-four years old, right?" said Lena.

"Yes," replied Remus, still astounded that she'd found out. He looked for a knife on the tray to cut the cake in two, but could only find a spoon. "Looks like Tizzy forgot a knife," he remarked, and stood up. "I'll just grab my wand to cut–"

"Oh, I can't have any," said Lena. "I haven't been able to keep any food down at all for the last three days. The whole cake's for you. I can't imagine you having any trouble getting through all of it."

Remus frowned, sitting back down. "You mean you haven't properly eaten anything for three days?"

"It's not so bad – with everything else that hurts, I can hardly feel the hunger."

"Then why would you give me this to eat in front of you?" asked Remus exasperatedly. "To make me feel like an utter twat?"

Lena's expression became slightly hurt. "I just wanted to celebrate your birthday with you," she said quietly. "There haven't been a lot of opportunities for me to do that in my life, and I wanted to do it one last time."

Now Remus _did_ feel like an utter twat. "I'm sorry," he muttered, not able to meet her eyes.

"Apology accepted," said Lena lightly. "Now, eat the bloody cake."

Remus picked up the spoon and dug it into the cake. As he put it in his mouth, he closed his eyes, trying not to moan at how good it was. After he'd swallowed, he opened his eyes to see that Lena appeared to be struggling not to laugh.

She motioned to her upper-lip. "You've got a bit of..."

Remus hastily wiped his mouth. "Gone?"

Lena's lips twitched. "Not quite. Here, let me..." She reached over and rubbed the space between his upper-lip and nose with her thumb.

"That it?" he asked.

"Not yet," she murmured, then gently wiped the bottom lip with a finger.

A shiver ran down Remus' spine. Lena's eyes were firmly fixed on his lips, and her hand was lingering on his face. Almost imperceptibly, she began to lean forward. And for the second time within a month, the thought, ' _She's going to kiss me,_ ' ran through Remus' mind.

But just as he began to lean in as well, the sound of footsteps urgently coming down the hallway interrupted them. A few moments later, the surprise visitor entered Lena's room. It was Dumbledore.

"Headmaster," said Remus, hurriedly standing up. He knew that with Lena no longer a Hogwarts student, there was no rule against him kissing her, but he wasn't quite comfortable with Dumbledore knowing that was what he'd just intended to do.

But Dumbledore didn't acknowledge Remus; his attention was firmly upon Lena.

"I just received word from the IHO," he told her. "Lena, they think they have found a treatment."

Remus' heart skipped a beat. Was Dumbledore saying...

Lena had frozen. "A treatment?" she asked, staring at Dumbledore.

The old wizard nodded. "They believe they have a way to save your life."

* * *

 **Ooh, would you look at that, another cliffhanger ;) But this time, without the wait to find out what happens next; instead, you can simply read on...**


	29. Nekrosía

**Hope you enjoy Chapter 29 :)  
**

* * *

 _Friday 11 March, 1994:_

The sun was yet to rise, so the waiting room in the Blood Maladies section of the International Health Organisation Headquarters in Stockholm was empty, with the exception of Lena and Dumbledore, and the young wizard at the reception desk. There was something almost eerie about the room, with its spotless white walls, floor and ceiling – not to mention the constant ticking of the clock on the wall, and the endless tapping of the receptionist on his typewriter.

Lena was grateful that Dumbledore was not in a chatty mood this morning. He was sitting next to Lena, his gnarled hands neatly folded in his lap and his eyes closed, seemingly lost in thought – leaving Lena alone to dwell upon her unexpected good fortune.

When she had used her magic two weeks ago, it had never occurred to Lena that the IHO would find a way to help her in time. She had thought it would take years for them to find any sort of treatment or cure – if ever at all. She had been so firmly convinced that she would die. She had been so sure that she'd nearly kissed Remus the previous evening, believing that it might be her last chance to kiss anybody – and in particular, him.

"Lena Lestrange?"

A witch had appeared in the waiting room's entrance, looking inquiringly at Lena. She had dark hair and eyes, and appeared to be in her early forties. She was wearing the white robe that signified she was one of the Healers who worked for the IHO.

Lena quickly stood up, and then immediately fell back into her seat as her knees buckled. She hadn't been out of her bed much over the past week, and the journey to Sweden had taken a lot out of her, even if it had been by Thestral.

The witch hurriedly came over to her. "Please, there's no need to get up just yet."

Dumbledore, however, stood and extended a hand. "Healer Ghali," he addressed the witch, "it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Healer Ghali took the hand and firmly shook it. "Likewise, Professor Dumbledore." She turned back to Lena. "And I'm delighted to meet you at last too, Miss Lestrange. My name is Kamilah Ghali, and I've been in charge of the group tasked with finding a cure for you these last six months."

Lena gave her a small smile. "I'm very grateful for everything you've been doing."

"Well, it's certainly been one of, if not the most interesting project I've ever undertaken," admitted Healer Ghali. "In fact, this sort of work is the reason I became a Healer." She grimaced. "Sorry, that was tactless – I didn't mean to make it sound like I'm happy about your affliction."

Lena made a dismissive gesture. "It's fine," she assured her, "I get it."

Healer Ghali eyed Lena oddly. "Yes," she muttered, "I'm sure you do." Before Lena could ask what she meant, the Healer had proffered her arm to her. "Well, we might head to my lab now so I can take you through what the treatment entails."

Gripping Healer Ghali's forearm, Lena hoisted herself up. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"Shall I come with you," asked Dumbledore, "or would you rather I stayed here?"

"Thank you for the offer, sir," said Lena politely, "but I think I'll be fine."

Dumbledore nodded and sat down. "I'll be waiting here."

Using Healer Ghali for support, Lena hobbled out of the waiting room, and down the corridor that led to the lab.

"What did you mean before?" Lena asked her. "When you said, 'I'm sure you do'?"

Healer Ghali gave her a sidelong glance. "Professor Dumbledore may have left out some details of how you came into contact with Hecate's Orb," she said after a pause, "but he told us enough for it to be clear you've been very interested in the nature of magic since a young age. Am I correct?"

"Yes."

"So it makes sense," Healer Ghali went on, "that you would understand my excitement to study your illness, despite the serious risk it poses to you."

Lena quirked an eyebrow. "How could I blame you for being interested in something rare and dangerous?"

"Exactly."

The corner of Lena's lips turned up. She suspected that Healer Ghali and herself could become quite good friends, if given the opportunity.

Finally, they arrived at the lab. Lena looked around the room, fascinated. Unlike the waiting room, the floor was dark blue, sparsely adorned with scratch marks, burns and stains. The walls and ceiling were a paler blue, which Lena found much less unsettling than the excessively sanitary white of the waiting room. There was a large table in the centre of the lab, covered in vials, miniature cauldrons, charts and other curious objects that even Lena couldn't identify. There was also a desk in the corner, and several normal-sized cauldrons sitting upon unlit fires.

Healer Ghali helped Lena over to a stool that was next to the table, and then took a seat herself.

"Right," she began, "the first thing I need to say, and make as clear as possible, is that what my team and I have come up with is _not_ a cure. It will not remove the poison in your blood from your body. What we believe we do have, however, is a treatment – one that should not only eliminate the fatality of your illness, but also allow you to use your magic as freely as you once did."

Lena's heart began to race. The message they had sent Dumbledore yesterday had not clarified whether the treatment would allow her to use magic again, an uncertainty that had been weighing heavily on Lena's mind the last twelve hours.

Carefully pulling over one of the miniature cauldrons so it was between them, Healer Ghali continued, "This is the treatment: a potion we have created, called Moramortis. It needs to be taken daily."

Leaning over the cauldron, Lena saw the potion was a bright red substance, slightly paler than the colour of blood. It was also thin as water.

"So I drink this every morning?" inquired Lena.

Healer Ghali shook her head. "No, the Moramortis needs to be directly injected into your bloodstream." She picked up a small, cylindrical object. "This is called a syringe, and it's what you'll use to give yourself the correct dosage every day."

Lena looked at the syringe curiously. "How does it work?"

Healer Ghali pushed one end of it, and a needle shot out the other, making Lena flinch.

"You push the needle directly into a vein," explained Healer Ghali, "and that'll inject the Moramortis into the bloodstream."

"I've never seen one before," said Lena. "Is it a Wizarding invention?"

"No," answered Healer Ghali, "it's of Muggle origins, and is quite commonly used in their medical practices. We've adopted the method before, but only in rare instances. Now, I'll give you the injection today, but you'll need to learn how to do it yourself."

Lena nodded, her mind whirling as she stared at the Moramortis. Her salvation.

"Is something the matter?" asked Healer Ghali concernedly.

"No," said Lena hastily, then bit her lip. "It's just... well, I honestly didn't expect your team to ever come up with anything."

"Really?" said Healer Ghali, seeming surprised. "The IHO only employs the greatest healers in the Wizarding World."

"I know," said Lena, feeling embarrassed. "I'm just not accustomed to the idea of other people solving your problems for you. I was always raised to believe that if you got yourself into a mess, you had to get yourself out of it."

"That sounds like a rather solitary and difficult way to live," remarked Healer Ghali.

Lena snorted. "Yeah, you could say that." She cleared her throat. "So, how exactly does this Moramortis work? How does it counter the Orb's magic?"

"Nekrosía."

"Pardon?" said Lena, confused.

"Nekrosía," repeated Healer Ghali. "That's the technical name for the magic Hecate's Orb contains, and which is in your body."

"I didn't realise there was a name for it."

"That's not surprising," replied Healer Ghali. "It's such a rare form of magic now that most people never come across the term. In fact, the majority of people are completely unaware of the existence of Nekrosía. It's really only familiar to the foremost experts in the history of the Dark Arts, and those in the Healing profession like myself who specialise in ailments caused by rare Dark magic."

Lena took a moment to process this. "So Nekrosía," she said slowly, "is a form of magic which is created by taking souls, and converting them into raw energy?"

Healer Ghali nodded. "That's perhaps the simplest explanation for how it works. There are several legends of wizards and witches in ancient times using Nekrosía to attain great power, but it's practically unheard of today – as I'm sure you now understand very well," she added pointedly.

Lena looked down at her vein-covered hands. She wondered just how many wizards and witches had lost their lives before the danger of messing with Nekrosía had finally sunk in.

"Okay," said Lena. "How does the Moramortis stop the Nekrosía from killing me?"

"It neutralises it," answered Healer Ghali. "While the Nekrosía will remain in your blood, your own magic will once again have dominance, and the Nekrosía will be inactive, no longer poisoning your body. As long as you don't deliberately call upon it, the Nekrosía can't hurt you."

"And the veins–"

"Should rescind. Ideally, it will once again just be the mark on your chest."

It all seemed too good to be true. A daily injection, and everything would be back to normal.

"Are there any side-effects?" asked Lena, reluctant to believe her good fortune.

"Just the one," said Healer Ghali, her expression becoming very serious.

Lena's throat constricted. Of course there was a 'but' to all of this. What new problem was about to cause havoc in her life?

"There are certain ingredients in the Moramortis," continued Healer Ghali, "that will cause infertility."

There was a brief, odd sort of twinge in Lena's stomach. "Oh."

"We're happy to continue researching for a way to negate that, but–"

"It's fine," said Lena quickly. "It's not really a huge price to pay to live." She hesitated. "Erm, will I still get my period?"

Healer Ghali shook her head. "I don't think so."

Lena gave her a cheery smile. "Well, there's an upside if I ever heard one. All right, how do we do these injections?"

Despite seeming slightly surprised by Lena's quick brush-off of her inevitable inability to have children, Healer Ghali immediately adopted her business-like tone again. "Right, roll up your left sleeve."

She proceeded to demonstrate to Lena the way to inject herself with the Moramortis. Lena winced as the needle pierced through her skin, but kept her eyes on the syringe as Healer Ghali pushed the potion into her blood.

After she'd pulled the needle out, Healer Ghali said, "Now, Lena, I'm going to need you stay here for the next week, just so I can keep you under observation, and ensure the Moramortis is working as it's supposed to. And over the week, I'll show you how to make it, as you'll need to brew a new lot every twelve weeks. How does that sound?"

Lena could have been imagining it, but it felt like the Moramortis was already beginning to do its job. "That sounds great," she replied. And she meant it.

* * *

 _Tuesday 15 March, 1994:_

"Remember, one thousand words on what you believe is the most effective Defensive spell against an Explosive Curse, due by the beginning of our lesson on Friday morning," Remus called out, as the Seventh Year Ravenclaw and Slytherin class started to pack up.

Terence Higgs raised a hand. "Does the ten percent rule apply to this, sir?"

"Five percent," said Remus. "So no less than 950 words, no more than 1050. Most of you need to work on either being more concise, or fleshing out your arguments, so consider this a good opportunity to practise that. Good afternoon, everyone."

As the rest of the class began to file out, Remus' eyes were drawn to Maggie Skelton, who was taking a little longer to pack up. It was her first day back in class, and although she had mostly healed from the Blood Boiling Curse, all her movements were clearly slower than usual. Gemma Farley stood by Skelton's desk, waiting for her.

Remus walked up to them. "Maggie, do you mind staying behind for a couple of minutes?" he asked her.

"Sure," she said, looking a little surprised.

"I'll wait for you outside," Farley told her. Skelton nodded, and Farley left, leaving Remus alone with the still-recovering girl.

He took a seat on the desk to the side of the one at which Skelton had been sitting. "I just wanted to check how your day's been going," he said.

Skelton leant against her desk. "Well, it's certainly taking a lot longer to get to all my classes than usual," she said wryly.

"And what about schoolwork?" inquired Remus. "I know missing two weeks in Seventh Year probably feels more like missing two months."

Skelton half-smiled. "Yeah, that's a pretty accurate description. Well, Gemma and Fakhir have offered to help me catch up on work for this class, and I've got a friend who'll help me with my other four subjects."

"Rolf Scamander?"

Skelton raised her eyebrows. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

Remus shrugged slightly. "I just know he's had a pretty rough couple of weeks, with both you and Lena–" He stopped abruptly, as Skelton quickly looked away – but not fast enough for the flicker of pain that crossed her face to escape his notice.

During Remus' lesson with the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Seventh Years the day after Lena had left Hogwarts, he had noticed how out of it Rolf was, and so had asked him to stay behind. When it had just been the two of them in the classroom, Rolf had completely broken down. Remus had done his best to comfort him, but at the time he himself had been so miserable that he didn't think he'd really done much to help Rolf. Remus wouldn't be surprised if some of his students had noticed his own distracted and depressed state over the past couple of weeks. The staff certainly had, although he wasn't sure how many of them had realised why. He suspected Minerva did, even if she didn't say so.

But all that had changed last Friday evening, when Dumbledore returned from Sweden and told him the good news: Lena was going to be all right. She was going to live, and she would be back at Hogwarts soon, most likely by the end of the week. Remus had managed to maintain some facade of composure while Dumbledore had been in his office, but the moment the headmaster left, had wept with joy.

Cautiously, Remus asked, "Has Rolf spoken to you at all, regarding Lena?"

Skelton nodded, still staring at the wall. "He told me everything when I got back yesterday afternoon," she said distantly.

"Including the news that she's going to be okay now?"

Finally, Skelton turned her eyes back to Remus. "He said you told him on Saturday morning."

"I did."

Skelton rubbed her eyes. As she moved her hand away from them, Remus could see there was a slight moistness in their corners.

"She was going to die," said Skelton, her voice cracking, "thinking I hated her."

Remus didn't know how to respond. As close as he was to Lena, there was so much more history between her and Skelton.

"Tiffany and Eve told me that Lena almost killed Selwyn and the others," continued Skelton quietly. "She sent everyone else to their dormitories, but they could hear the screams when–" She broke off, looking at Remus guiltily.

"It's fine, Maggie," he reassured her. "I'm aware that your attackers didn't confess without some... _motivation_ from Lena."

Skelton nodded slowly. "She always protected me, Professor. Right from First Year. I... I used to have nightmares," she explained hesitantly. "When I first came here. Pretty much every night. About... stuff that happened. To me. In some of the foster homes I stayed in." She shuddered. "Anyway, I would cry in my sleep, whimper, call out, stuff like that. And back then, Lena and I shared our dorm with Bletchley and Warrington. And when Lena wasn't around, they would tease me about it – well, Warrington would, and Bletchley would just laugh at what she said. Called me a cry-baby, would ask stuff like if I was abandoned at birth by my mum, that sort of thing. And they told the other girls that I cried every night, and made up stuff, like that I wet the bed." She folded her arms tightly, hugging herself. "Not coming from a Wizarding family, I was already an outsider in Slytherin. But back then, they weren't just looking down on me because of my blood status."

Remus was appalled. Bullying was no rarity at Hogwarts, even in Gryffindor. But it was still awful to hear of such a vulnerable child being so cruelly tormented.

"Anyway," Skelton went on, "Lena caught on to what was happening after a month or so. One night, when I was in our bathroom and she didn't think I could hear, she told Warrington and Bletchley to knock it off, or else. Neither of them said they would, and the next morning, Lena said to me she felt our dormitory was too crowded, and she was going to make the other girls leave. I just told her I was cool with that. During the day, she caught a spider. Then in the evening, when we were all back in the dorm, she Engorged the spider until it was the size of a dog, and made it chase Warrington and Bletchley around the room. She told them that if they didn't move to a different dorm, the next evening it would be a snake, and she'd make it strangle them to death." She smiled. "They were gone by the next morning, and soon after that, no one else bothered me about being Muggle-born, or having nightmares. But I remember wondering back then if she'd meant it – if she would kill them if they didn't do what she said." She unfolded her arms and picked up her bag. "I guess I know now."

Remus stared at her. Ever since Lena had told him about trying to Master Hecate's Orb, he had tried to imagine the eleven-year-old child who would want to do such a dangerous thing. Skelton's story had just helped illustrate that picture.

"Yes," he said, after a pause, "I suppose we do."

* * *

 _Friday 18 March, 1994:_

"Thanks, Umbrius," murmured Lena, stroking the Thestral's nose. She looked around the Hogwarts grounds contentedly, while the evening wind made her black overcoat billow around her.

"Welcome back," said Hagrid gruffly.

"Thank you," said Lena, giving him a bright smile, which seemed to disconcert him a little. She guessed he wasn't used to seeing her look so happy.

"Righ'," mumbled Hagrid. "I'll take Umbrius back ter the Forest, then, and yeh head in," he jerked his head towards the castle, "and get some dinner."

Lena thanked the gamekeeper once more, then made her way to the castle. Tizzy had already brought her trunk back and deposited it in her dormitory, so Lena was free to go straight to the kitchens to eat. If she hurried, she could probably catch the end of dinner in the Great Hall, but Lena was hoping to avoid a grand entrance if possible.

The Moramortis worked. The black veins had rescinded until all that remained was the galleon-sized mark over her heart, and the surrounding inch-long veins. She wasn't coughing up black liquid, she wasn't in any pain, and most important of all – she could use magic. As much as she wanted. Even her wand had recognised the change, no longer resisting her the way it had at the beginning of the year. So that morning, Healer Ghali had said she was free to leave the IHO Headquarters, and that providing nothing went wrong before then, she would see Lena again in one year's time for a check-up.

Yesterday, Lena had seen Valeriya for the first time since the last summer. Once she'd been fairly certain her death was no longer imminent, she had written to her great aunt to finally tell her what had been happening to her the past six months. She had been surprised by Valeriya's lack of 'I told you so'. Instead, Valeriya was more angry that Lena had kept her illness a secret from her for so long. On the whole, she had been more concerned than judgemental.

Lena's walk to the castle was illuminated by the bright full moon. That was the only thing dampening her mood – she couldn't visit Remus until tomorrow afternoon, when he'd had some time to recover from his transformation.

Reaching the entrance, she pushed the doors open and walked inside, struggling to contain a delighted grin. She had honestly thought she would never see the place again.

As it was dinner time, she had almost made it to the kitchens without running into anyone else, when she heard a voice coming from around the corner of the corridor she was walking down.

"Yeah, I reckon Flitwick will want us to revise the– Lena!" said Gemma, halting in her tracks as she came around the corner, followed by the two people she was talking to: Kahn, and Maggie. They all stared at her.

"Hi Gemma," said Lena nervously. "Kahn," she added, nodding at him. Then her eyes turned to Maggie, whose expression was unreadable. Lena searched for something to say, but nothing felt right. It didn't help that Gemma and Kahn were looking between her and Maggie with great interest.

At last, Maggie took a step towards her. "You're a moron," she said flatly.

"I know," responded Lena immediately.

For five seconds, there was another silence. Then at exactly the same time, the two girls walked up to each other and hugged.

"I'm glad you're not dead," said Maggie after they'd let each other go.

Lena smiled. "Yeah, I'm pretty pleased about it too."

* * *

"No, Tizzy, I've really had enough."

The house-elf's blue eyes gazed up at Lena beseechingly. "But Miss Lena has had so little to eat these last few weeks–"

"Exactly," said Lena. "And if I suddenly start eating twice as much as I have been, I'll make myself sick. So I promise you, Tizzy, that I have had enough to eat tonight."

"I, on the other hand," said Rolf, raising a hand, "would be quite happy to have another éclair, if they're on offer."

"So," said Maggie, as Tizzy hurried off to get Rolf his extra éclair, "what happens if you miss an injection one day?"

After Lena and Maggie's reconciliation, they had quickly gone to the Slytherin Dungeon to move Lena's stuff back into Maggie's dormitory. Then they had found Rolf. Mortimer had been in his pocket at the time, and upon seeing Lena, let out an excited squeak and flung himself off Rolf and onto Lena. Then they had all gone to the kitchens, where Lena had been warmly greeted by all the house-elves. While Lena was eating her dinner – a determined Mortimer clinging to her shoulder the entire time, unwilling to be detached from Lena for even the smallest second – she had explained everything to Maggie and Rolf, from her taking Hecate's Orb up to everything Healer Ghali had told her over the last week.

"Basically, I have a thirty-hour window between each injection," said Lena. "If I go without one for thirty hours, I'll get sick, and my organs will start shutting down. After sixty hours, Healer Ghali suspects I'll slip into a comatose state, and by one hundred, I'd probably be dead. And if I ever take more than the recommended dosage, it's likely I'll go into cardiac arrest."

"Wow," said Maggie quietly. "That's... intense."

"Thanks, Tizzy," said Rolf, as the house-elf presented him with his éclair, before looking back at Lena. "I just can't believe you have to stick a needle into your arm every day."

Lena shrugged. "Well, I've been doing it for a week now, and I'm already getting used to it. In any case, it's better than the alternative."

Rolf, who had been about to take a bite out of his éclair, immediately looked abashed. "Sorry," he muttered, putting the éclair back down. "I didn't mean to sound–"

"It's fine," Lena told him. "There's no need to walk on eggshells –nearly dying has changed my outlook on life, and definitely for the better." She smiled at her friends. "That's why I'm telling you guys everything now. Shutting myself off from you doesn't help anyone."

"Of course it would take _you_ a near-death experience to realise that," said Rolf under his breath.

Lena arched an eyebrow. "What would you expect from someone who was literally taught the opposite her entire childhood? Mind you," she added, "turns out Valeriya's a big hypocrite. She got mad at me for not telling her I was sick, and when I asked why she was so angry, she told me she could have been trying to find a way to help me for the last six months. Can you believe it – the same woman who constantly told me to never expect or rely upon anyone for help."

Rolf snorted. "I guess it took _your_ near-death experience for _her_ to have the same epiphany," he remarked.

Maggie, meanwhile, was frowning. "What about your grandmother?"

Lena looked at her, confused. "What about her?"

"Did you write to her at all?" asked Maggie. "I mean, she lives on the continent right? It wouldn't have been difficult for her to visit you in Stockholm."

"I told you just before, after I attacked her with the Orb, she didn't want anything to do with me," said Lena flatly.

"You're her granddaughter," said Rolf. "Surely if she knew you'd almost died, she'd want to see you."

"You don't understand," said Lena quietly, staring down at her hands as they fidgeted on the table. "We didn't have that kind of relationship in the first place. We didn't... we didn't _love_ each other."

"Oh," said Maggie. "That's why you always act so weird when you mention her."

Lena looked up at Maggie, her brow furrowed. "Weird?" As far as she could recall, she'd never behaved oddly on the rare occasions she had mentioned her grandmother to Maggie. "In what way?"

Maggie bit her lip. "It's just... well, maybe it won't sound that weird when I say it, but..." She hesitated.

"But what?"

"You used the same words," rushed Maggie. "The exact same phrase, twice. Once back in First Year, when you told me you'd been living abroad until that last summer. And the other time was during dinner on Christmas Eve, at Rolf's grandparents' house when we were in Fifth Year. The same words: 'When I moved back to England, my great aunt took custody of me. My grandmother remained abroad'."

"How'd you remember after four years the exact words Lena used?" asked Rolf.

"Because the way you said them was weird," Maggie explained to Lena. "You're usually so focused – even if it's not on what you're saying, there's something else you're concentrating on. I don't think I've ever seen your mind go blank. But back in First Year, when you said that to me, your eyes sort of glazed over, like you weren't thinking about anything, just saying the words. The exact same thing happened that Christmas Eve. You said the same thing, verbatim, and when you said it, it was like they weren't your words – it was as though you were reciting something from a script. Like it had been rehearsed."

Suddenly, a searing pain shot through Lena's head, making her gasp and clutch her forehead.

 _Aunt Valeriya was kneeling over Irina, who was lying still. "Irina?" she whispered her sister's name. Then she looked up, staring at Lena, wide-eyed and horrified._

Lena's eyes flew open, her heart pounding. What had she just seen? That memory had not been in her head before. The last thing she had always been able to remember about the day she had attacked Irina had been Valeriya running into the room, shouting at her.

"Lena?"

She looked across the table, where Rolf and Maggie sat, looking at her anxiously. The nearby house-elves were also watching her with concerned expressions.

"What's wrong?" asked Rolf, standing up. "Is it the Moratisius? Is it not working?"

"Moramortis," Lena automatically corrected him. "And no, it's fine. That was," she swallowed, "something else."

"Like what?" pressed Maggie.

Lena ran a hand through her hair, her head spinning. Was it possible...

"I think," she said at last, "that Valeriya tampered with my memories."

* * *

Lena stared at the front door of Valeriya's flat. Her aunt was supposed to be home. She had said as much when Lena had seen her yesterday. But for a glimmer of a second, Lena, afraid of what answers she might find, hoped that Valeriya had been unexpectedly called away.

The desire to know the truth, however, quickly overcame her fear of what it might be, and so Lena knocked on the door. A moment later, it was opened.

"Lena?" said Valeriya, shocked. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," said Lena, and pushed past her into the flat.

As soon as Lena had realised there was something wrong with her memory, she had left the kitchens – leaving behind a very reluctant Mortimer with Maggie and Rolf –and headed straight to the third-floor, which contained the statue that hid a secret passage into the Honeydukes' cellar. After she'd gone through the passage, she'd snuck out of the sweet shop and Apparated to Knockturn Alley. There was no way Lena could have delayed this visit until the nexr day, let alone until the end of the school year. Valeriya was hiding something from her – she had been for almost seven years. And Lena had to know what.

As soon as Valeriya shut the door, Lena spoke. "What happened on the eighteenth of June, 1987?" she demanded.

Valeriya stared at her. "You know what happened," she said slowly.

"That's the thing," replied Lena, balling her fists up. "I _thought_ I knew what happened. I thought I remembered everything that happened up until I passed out very clearly. But it's just come to my attention that I _don't_. "

"Sometimes after a traumatic event, the mind–"

"I don't get _traumatised_ ," hissed Lena. "I have gone through _so much_ shit, and _done_ so many awful things, and I remember _all_ of it. That's what happens when you train as an Occlumens from the age of _four_. You can compartmentalise things in your mind, push memories so far back so you don't constantly think about them. But you don't _forget_ – not unless somebody tampers with your mind!"

Valeriya's face remained smooth, but for just a second, Lena saw panic flicker in her eyes.

"Don't get hysterical, Lena," said Valeriya evenly. "Now, you've been very ill–"

"This isn't about my illness," said Lena angrily. "This is about you removing memories from my brain seven years ago, and putting words in to say when I'm asked about Irina!" She took a deep breath. "So I'm going to ask you again: what happened on the eighteenth of June, 1987?"

Valeriya shook her head. "There's nothing else to know."

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" yelled Lena. "I KNOW THERE'S MORE, SO TELL ME!"

"Stop it," snapped Valeriya. "You're acting like a child!"

"You know," said Lena after a short pause, "that's exactly what Irina told me that day. She told me to stop acting like a little child."

Valeriya froze, caught off guard.

"What happened to Irina?" asked Lena quietly.

There was a pause, before Valeriya said, "I understand your curiosity, but I promise you, Lena, these aren't memories you want back."

"They're my memories!"

"And nothing good will come of them," cried Valeriya. Her calm demeanour had evaporated, aggravation taking its place. "Lena, I took those memories for a reason – I was trying to protect you!"

"Lying isn't protection," snarled Lena.

"It is when the truth is worse!"

The two women stared at each other, their chests heaving. Lena knew her aunt well enough to know that Valeriya truly believed what she was saying. But that just wasn't enough. Not for Lena.

"I'm sorry," said Lena, pulling out her wand, "but I have to know."

"No, Lena, don't–"

" _Legilimens_!"

Valeriya's hand had dived into her sleeve for her wand, but she wasn't quick enough. Lena's spell hit her squarely in the head. Valeriya's mental defences held for roughly two seconds, and then Lena forced her way through, and into her aunt's mind.

 _Valeriya burst into the living room to see Lena, who was holding Hecate's Orb in her hands, standing over Irina. Some sort of black matter was enveloping Irina._

 _"LENA, NO!" screamed Valeriya, but her great niece paid no attention, her eyes fixed on her convulsing grandmother._

 _Desperately, Valeriya tried to grab the Orb out of Lena's hands, but some kind of invisible barrier threw her back, and she slammed into the wall. Pulling her wand out of her sleeve, she pointed it at Lena, and shouted, "_ Stupefy _!". But the spell simply ricocheted off the barrier, and narrowly missed hitting Valeriya in the head. Stumbling over to her sister, Valeriya reached a hand out to Irina, hoping to Apparate her to a different part of the house, but some of the black matter wrapped itself around her hand, making Valeriya cry out in pain. It felt like her hand was on fire._

 _She turned back to Lena, whose expression had not changed once. "Lena, you have to stop it," she begged her. "Please, stop! You're killing her!"_

 _Finally, Lena's eyes finally shifted their gaze from Irina to Valeriya. But all she said was, "I know. I want to."_

 _Then Irina's body gave one last spasm, before going completely still. The black matter that had been swirling around Irina flew back into the Orb, as did the small bit that had attached itself to Valeriya's hand, and at last, Valeriya could see and touch her sister. Kneeling, she leant over her. Irina's eyes were still open, but the whites and the irises were gone – everything was black. So was the inside of her mouth, which was still parted in a silent scream, and the veins that covered her body. Valeriya placed a hand over her sister's chest. There was no movement._

 _"Irina?" whispered Valeriya. But to hope for a response was pointless. Irina Lestrange was very clearly dead._

 _Valeriya looked up at Lena, horrified. Her niece was staring dispassionately at her dead grandmother, the Orb still in her hands._

 _Something wet began to slide down Valeriya's cheek. Her hand slid up her cheek, tracing the moisture's source up to her eyes. She was crying. It had been so long since she had last wept that she hadn't recognised the sensation. But now tears were falling, and Valeriya honestly didn't know whether they were for the dead sister whom she'd never loved as much as a sibling was supposed to, or for her great-niece, and the irreparable damage that had been done to her today._

 _And then Lena's gaze turned once again to Valeriya. She cocked her head slightly, as if confused by her aunt's tearstained face. Then she blinked several times, and looked down at the Orb in her hands, before looking up again, her eyes flicking between her grandmother's body and Valeriya._

 _"Lena?" said Valeriya hesitantly._

 _Slowly, Lena's expression morphed from confusion into horror. "Grandma?" she whispered. She looked at Valeriya, her breathing becoming shallow. "I... I killed her?"_

 _She took a step back, letting go of the Orb. It hit the ground with a thud and began to roll towards Valeriya. But the moment it was out of Lena's hands, her body began to shudder. Her eyes rolled up and she collapsed. Valeriya quickly crawled over to her. She had already lost her sister today. She wasn't going to lose another member of her family to the Orb._

Lena opened her eyes and stumbled back, breathing heavily. Her grandmother had been dead for almost seven years. And Lena was the one who had murdered her. She looked over at Valeriya, who was staring at her with tear-filled eyes.

"How could you?" croaked Lena, doubled over with her hands on her knees. She felt like she might vomit. "How could you hide that from me?"

"I told you," whispered Valeriya. "I was trying to protect you."

"From what?" demanded Lena. "I murdered my own grandmother, Valeriya. From what did I _deserve_ protection?"

"No," said Valeriya, vigorously shaking her head as she took a step closer to Lena. "You did not _murder_ Irina, Lena. It was an accident."

"I made a choice!" cried Lena, her voice thick with emotion. "I took the Orb, and I knew how dangerous it was. I wasn't persuaded or influenced or manipulating into taking it – I made the decision myself. It's my fault that I killed her."

"No, no," argued Valeriya, coming up to Lena. She tried to take Lena's hands, but her niece resisted the attempt. "I should never have brought that _thing_ home, I knew what you were like, and it was irresponsible of me–"

"Stop it!" Lena shouted at her. "First you made me think it never happened, and now you're trying to take the blame, and you can't, you can't take that from me too–"

"You were eleven!"

"STOP!" shrieked Lena as her knees gave way, and she sunk to the floor. "Stop acting like I was – I was – was some sort of _victim_ of the Orb! I knew what I was doing! The whole time! Even when I–" Lena clawed at her chest as her throat constricted. "–I killed her!" she choked out.

Valeriya knelt down in front of her, grabbing her shoulders. "Please, Lena, calm down–"

"Calm – down?" replied Lena, between gasps for air. "I – just – found – out – I – fucking – _murdered_ – my own – grandmother!" She gave Valeriya a shove, and her aunt toppled over backward, her rear hitting the floor with a _thump_. "What sort – of rational response – is _being_ _calm_?"

"You've been sick," said Valeriya, sounding frustrated as she struggled back up onto her knees. "I don't want–"

"I know I've been sick," Lena spat at her. "I know that much better than you."

Valeriya's expression twisted into anger. "Because you kept it a secret from me for _six months_!"

"SIX MONTHS?" bellowed Lena. "OH, POOR YOU! IMAGINE WHAT _SEVEN YEARS_ FEELS LIKE!"

"I WAS TRYING TO _PRO_ –"

"IF YOU SAY 'PROTECT' ONE MORE TIME, I WILL BREAK YOUR BLOODY FACE!"

Valeriya narrowed her eyes. "Do not threaten me!" she hissed.

"Or what?" snapped Lena.

They glared at each other, Lena's breaths still laboured. After a long silence, Valeriya's face softened.

"I'm sorry for lying to you," she told Lena quietly, sitting down cross-legged. "I knew, deep down, that one day you would find out the truth, but I wanted to delay that day for as long as possible. I saw how horrified you were when you realised what you'd done, and I didn't want you to have to bear that guilt."

Lena buried her face in her hands. "Why?" she mumbled, before looking up again, her eyes full of pain. "Why couldn't you just be honest with me? You never sugar-coated anything else."

"Because I cared," said Valeriya softly. She sighed. "Lena, I never wanted to be a mother. I never had any interest in children. And then when you were six years old, you came into my life, and you were _extraordinary_. Your intelligence, your focus, your talent, your desire to learn everything – I never imagined it was possible for there to be a child like you. At first, I was intrigued by you. I thought you could be an apprentice, of sorts. But the more time I spent with you, the more I began to care about you; until one day, I realised you meant far more to me than an apprentice." She smiled sadly. "You became the daughter I never asked for, Lena. The unexpected pride, and love, of my life. And when you were so broken by what you did to Irina, the only thing I wanted to do was make you stop hurting. And the only way I could do that was make you forget."

Lena stared at her great aunt, stunned. She knew Valeriya had grown to care about her, but to that extent? Remus' words from the day before she'd left Hogwarts echoed around her head.

 _'Because that's what you do, isn't it? You keep a wall up between yourself and everyone else, and then the moment you open up to one of us, you suck us in.'_

She'd been unable to think of any worthy response to that back then, and Valeriya's declaration was no different. So instead, Lena asked, "When did you alter my memories?"

"Right after the attack," said Valeriya. "I knew it was the only time your mind would be vulnerable enough for me to enter it. I couldn't remove the entire attack from your memory; that would damage your mind. So I edited it, cutting it off at a point where you had attacked Irina, but she was still alive. Then I put in a couple of sentences–"

"When I moved back to England, my great aunt took custody of me. My grandmother remained abroad," recited Lena.

Valeriya nodded. "A message ingrained into your brain, so that when I gave you an explanation of what happened, you wouldn't question it. You would accept that I was your sole guardian, and that Irina was at the family home in Switzerland, still alive. It was what you would instinctively say to anyone if they asked about your grandmother."

"What happened to Irina's body?"

"I didn't cover up her death, if that's what you're implying," said Valeriya, frowning. "She's buried in the Dolohov family cemetery, and her death's been officially recorded. That's how Dumbledore found out."

Lena went very still. "Dumbledore knows Irina is dead?"

Valeriya looked at her oddly. "Yes," she replied. "He wrote to me last summer, saying he spoke to you about the Orb, and noticed the Ministry records, contrary to what you had told him, listed Irina's death as the eighteenth of June, 1987. I explained to him that I had altered your memory to a degree." She tilted her head to the side. "Are you saying it wasn't Dumbledore who hinted to you that something was missing from your memory of the day?"

"No," said Lena flatly. "No it wasn't." For a moment, she considered going straight back to Hogwarts and marching into Dumbledore's office, and screaming at him. Instead, she sighed and rubbed her face tiredly. "This is just too much," she muttered.

Valeriya moved to sit next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Maybe you should stay here tonight," she suggested. "I don't think Apparating in your state is a good idea."

"And what state would that be?" asked Lena bitterly.

"I don't know," said Valeriya. "Shocked? Appalled? Sickened?"

"No, Valeriya, I'm _tired_ ," Lena told her. "I'm just so tired of _myself_. My life is just a series of wrong decisions, and people getting hurt because of them." Her voice trembled. "Just once, _just once_ , I want to do something _right_."

* * *

 **So, any thoughts? Like I said before, I'd love to hear them - not just because they're interesting, but because it really helps me when I'm writing to know what people like/dislike, want more focus on, etc.**

 **Also, a question: As it hasn't yet been revealed what form Lena's Corporeal Patronus takes, does anyone think they might have figured out what it will be? Do let me know :)**

 **As always, thank you for reading! Hopefully the next update won't be too far away...**


	30. Float or Sink

**Chapter 30 is here! And it's a long one (but not the longest).**

 **Yet again, I have to say a huge thank you to all the reviewers (I have a couple of responses in the AN at the end of the chapter). It's so helpful to know what's working, or what isn't. And in regards to the guesses of Lena's corporeal Patronus - I think all of them are definitely valid options. Unfortunately, the answer still won't be revealed in this chapter, but I'd love to hear any more thoughts on the matter :)**

 **Anyhoo, on with the story...**

* * *

 _Saturday 19 March, 1994:_

Remus awoke in the early afternoon, roused by a knocking on his office door.

 _Lena_.

She was supposed to have come back to Hogwarts last night. Back, and alive.

The aches and pains left over from his transformation disappeared as Remus threw off his bedcovers and dressed in a record amount of time. He yanked open his bedroom door and literally ran across his office to unlock and open the door.

"Len–"He stopped abruptly. It wasn't Lena who'd been knocking on his door; it was Maggie Skelton.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir," she said, "but I really think you should come see Lena."

Panic shot through Remus. "What's wrong?" he asked urgently.

"Oh, it's nothing to do with her illness," Maggie quickly reassured him. "Well, not really. No, physically, she's fine. She just..." She hesitated. "It's not my place to tell you."

"Maggie–"

"She got some pretty heavy news last night," said Maggie carefully. "And it's, um... look, just follow me. She's down by the Lake."

Remus quickly grabbed his robes, then followed Maggie down to the lakeshore that was furthest from the castle, anxiety almost bursting out of him.

It was a particularly cloudy day, the sky coloured in different shades of grey. It was cold for spring, but this didn't appear to be bothering Lena. Remus' breath hitched when he saw her. She was standing in the shallows of the lake, the water – which surely must have been freezing – halfway up her shins. Her black leggings were rolled up to just below her knees, and the sleeves of her lightweight grey jumper were pushed up to her elbows – meaning that even from a distance, Remus could see that the black veins were no longer there. She bent down and picked up a stone from the water, drew her arm back and threw it, attempting to skip it. It bounced once, before sinking below the surface.

"She's been doing that for over an hour now," Maggie told him. They drew level with Rolf, who was sitting on a large rock, watching Lena.

He glanced at Remus, nodding at him. "Professor," he said politely.

Maggie tapped her friend on the shoulder. "Come on," she murmured to him. "Let them talk alone."

Rolf looked reluctant to leave, but he got up and followed Maggie, and they headed off back in the direction of the castle. Once they were some distance way, Remus called out to Lena, who was standing about thirty metres away. "Lena?"

"Hello, Remus," she replied, without turning around. She picked up another stone, but this time, instead of throwing it normally, she tossed it into the air. It levitated for a few seconds, then, prompted by a gesture Lena made, arced through the air, eventually dropping back to the water's surface. It skipped across the water at least ten times, aided by small, pushing motions from Lena, before finally disappearing from sight.

Despite how worried he was, Remus smiled as he watched Lena using magic. It was a relief that she'd gotten back such an integral part of her. The smile slowly slipped off his face. What news could Lena have received that would outweigh her delight at being able to use magic again?

He was about to ask her what had happened, when Lena, still not looking at him, suddenly spoke.

"Off all the things I've told you, what do you think is the worst thing I've ever done?"

Remus' brow creased. "Why do you ask?"

"Because whatever it is," said Lena, magically skipping another stone, "I reckon I've now got something else to top it."

When it became apparent that Lena wasn't going to come back to the shore to talk to him, Remus sat down on the rock which Rolf had been using. "What's happened, Lena?" he asked.

"Irina's dead," said Lena shortly.

"Your grandmother?" He knew, from what Lena had told him, that it had been a difficult relationship, but he supposed that didn't mean she would be unaffected by it. "I'm so sorry. When did it–"

"Almost seven years ago."

Remus stared at Lena, who instead of skipping the stone she had just picked up, was bouncing it in her hand. "But you told me–"

"I killed her."

For a few seconds, white noise filled Remus' head. He felt as though his brain had stopped working. Then Lena threw the stone across the Lake with all her might. It made a loud splash as it hit the water, and Remus regained his senses.

"When you say 'killed' her..." he began to say.

"I murdered her," said Lena, finally turning around to face him. "With the Orb. Only I didn't find that out until last night."

Remus studied her face. He'd expected it to be distressed, angry, frustrated. Instead, she just seemed... tired. Resigned. _Defeated_.

"I don't understand," he said. "How could you have not known–"

"Because Valeriya tampered with my memory of the day I attacked her," explained Lena quietly. "She cut it off at a point where Irina was still alive, then added in a couple of sentences so I wouldn't question her account of what happened when I woke up. I only realised something was wrong last night when Maggie said something, and I got a flash of a memory I'd never had before. So I went to see Valeriya, and I discovered the truth." She smiled bitterly. "She said she hid it from me to spare me from my own guilt."

"But if you had the Orb, then it wasn't really murder, right?" said Remus desperately. "You didn't mean to do it."

"That's not how the Orb works, Remus," Lena told him wearily. "It doesn't manipulate you into doing anything you don't want to do. It amplifies whatever your feeling. It strips you back to the rawest version of yourself. I killed Irina because I was angry at her. In that moment, I really wanted her dead."

"But you wouldn't have actually done it if you hadn't had the Orb," Remus tried to reason. He wasn't really sure who he was trying to convince: Lena, or himself.

"Probably not," conceded Lena. "But taking the Orb in the first place was my choice. I knew it was one of the most dangerous magical objects to have ever existed, but I still wanted it. So I took it, and I've been paying the price for it ever since." She sighed, and kicked the water. "And you know what the worst thing is?" she continued bitterly. "I can't even do the decent thing and tell the Ministry that I killed her, because then they would know that Valeriya lied on the death certificate when she said it was an accident. Then she'd get in trouble for covering it up, and the authorities would finally have a valid reason to investigate her and charge her with the other million illegal things she's done."

Remus was torn between being appalled and wanting to comfort her. "You were eleven," he said helplessly.

Lena snorted. "Yeah. Makes Voldemort look like a bit of an amateur – he was sixteen before he first did anyone in."

"Lena!" exclaimed Remus angrily, standing. "Don't be so–"

"What, callous?" She arched an eyebrow. "Flippant? That was what you called me last week when I started talking about epitaphs, right?"

Remus walked into the water, barely noticing the feeling of his feet becoming soaked through his shoes. "Lena–"

"What would you have me be, Remus?" she asked, spreading her arms out. "Angry? Inconsolable? Crippled by the guilt and regret weighing me down?"

"Why not?" retorted Remus, stopping a few metres away from her. "I think they'd all be pretty normal responses to finding out you'd killed your own grandmother!"

"I am not normal!" cried Lena. She screwed her eyes shut and groaned. "Ugh, you don't have a fucking clue."

"Excuse me?" growled Remus. " _I_ don't have a clue?"

Lena opened her eyes and shook her head, a sardonic laugh escaping her. "You know why I find it so easy being around you, Remus? It's the self-loathing that just _radiates_ off you."

Remus stared at her, stunned. "What?" he asked hoarsely.

"Oh, don't get me wrong," said Lena. "Your intelligence, your humour, your charm – I find them all _immensely_ appealing. But it's that innate _disgust_ with yourself that really gets me. You can't separate the monster within you from everything else surrounding it. And I just found it so comforting that _somebody else_ felt like that too. But you know what?" Her eyes narrowed. "Now it's really _irritating_ me. Because you've never actually done anything _wrong_. All your self-directed hatred is about your _potential_ to do something monstrous. Me?" She let out another harsh bark of laughter. "I nearly let Ginny Weasley die last year, just so I could have a _version_ of Voldemort back in my life."

A sick feeling sprung up in Remus' stomach.

Lena took a step towards him. "I saw Harry this morning," she continued softly. "He almost hugged me, he was so glad that I was all right. And when I told him I missed him too, I meant it." A muscle in her face twitched and her voice shook as she went on, "But I genuinely don't know what I'd do if Voldemort appeared in front of me right now. I don't know if I would be more angry with him for all the terrible things he's done, or for being alive all these years and not coming to find me."

Remus clenched his fists. How could she proclaim to care so much about Harry, yet still love his parents' murderer? "That's–"

"Fucked up?" Lena smiled wryly. "Yeah. I know, remember? And I _feel_ that fucked up every day." She sighed. "I am so _sick_ ," she said quietly, "of being mad at myself. I am sick of raging. I am sick of breaking down. I literally have nothing left to give. I have nothing else to be but _tired_."

Remus gazed into her eyes, and something tugged at his heart. It wasn't long ago that he'd been wondering if it would be the last time he would see them, and that they would see him. And any urge to argue, to be angry with her, vanished.

He came closer until he was right in front of her. "I missed you," he whispered. Instinctively, he began to raise his hand to touch her cheek, but stopped when an expression of discomfort appeared on Lena's face.

"Last week," she blurted out, "when you visited me at my house, I was going to kiss you."

Remus' heart skipped a beat. He had been wondering how to bring up the subject – how to tell her that he dearly wished Dumbledore could have arrived just one minute later. "Lena," he started to say, looking at her sincerely, "I–"

"I thought I was going to die," interrupted Lena. "And I was just, you know, emotionally overwhelmed, or whatever. It wasn't because – that is, I don't want you to think that I, erm–"

"I understand," Remus quickly cut in, desperately hoping that his disappointment wasn't showing in his face. "It's been an intense few weeks."

"Yeah," replied Lena, looking relieved. However, the relief was wiped off her face as she looked over Remus' shoulder. "Oh, great," she muttered. "Just who I want to see right now."

Remus turned around. Dumbledore was slowly approaching the Lake's shore. He looked back at Lena, surprised by the resentful way she was looking at the old wizard.

"Better get this over and done with," she said, which only further added to Remus' confusion. She began to make her way of the Lake.

Remus followed her. "What's going on? Has something happened–"

"Don't worry about it," Lena told him curtly. "This is between him and me."

"But Lena–"

"It's good to see you, Remus," Lena cut him off as they reached the shore. She reached up into the upper-arm of her left sleeve, and pulled out her wand. She pointed it at her feet and muttered an incantation for a Drying Spell. Rolling down her leggings, she looked up and smiled at Remus. "It really is. But now I need to speak to Dumbledore privately." Sitting down on the large rock, she Summoned her socks and boots from where they lay a little further down the shore, and started to put them on.

With Dumbledore now in earshot, Remus held back from pressing her for any more answers.

"Remus," greeted Dumbledore politely. He glanced down at his Defence professor's drenched shoes and lower trouser-legs, before looking back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Flushing, Remus quickly pulled out his wand and cast a Drying Spell.

"There is a conversation," Dumbledore was saying to Lena, "that I believe we must have."

"I should say so," replied Lena, her lips tightly drawn.

Dumbledore gestured to their surroundings. "Here?"

"I don't see why not," said Lena. "Professor Lupin was just leaving."

The headmaster draw out his wand and Engorged one of the stones on the shore to the same size as the rock Lena was sitting on."I imagine you'll be looking forward to having Lena back in your class, Remus," he commented, sitting down.

Remus looked at him, confused. "Sorry?"

"Lena will be returning to regular Defence Against the Dark Arts class for the remainder of the year," elaborated Dumbledore. "I am afraid I no longer have the time to take her for private lessons in three subjects."

"Oh."

Lena glanced at Remus, her expression unreadable. "Is that fine with you, sir?" she asked evenly.

Her usage of 'sir' bothered Remus, but he plastered a smile on his face. "Yes, of course."

Lena turned her gaze back to Dumbledore, who inclined his head at Remus. "Enjoy the rest of your Saturday, Remus," he said. His tone was courteous, but Remus recognised it as a dismissal.

"You too, Headmaster," he responded. He looked at Lena, and gave her a quick nod. "Lena."

She smiled at him once more, but there was an obvious underlying tension in her face.

As Remus walked off, heading back to the castle, his elation at seeing Lena again was beginning to fade, and the aches and pains from the transformation were starting to return. But he barely noticed them. All he could really feel was a niggling disappointment in his heart.

* * *

In the end, Lena forgave Dumbledore for keeping Irina's death from her. She had meant it when she told Remus that she had nothing left to give. She had used up all her anger on Valeriya the night before. Perhaps in a week or so she would return to her full capacity for rage – towards both herself and others – but that day, she was simply drained of such fury.

She had also meant it when she told Remus that she no longer saw his deep-rooted self-loathing as a commonality between them, but a source of irritation. Because it just wasn't the same thing. Yes, when they had spoken on Christmas day, Remus had claimed that it was a constant struggle to separate himself from the wolf, but his internal war was different to Lena's, for principally one, significant reason – he was _successful_. He had never attacked anyone, not even as a fully transformed werewolf. And when he was a man, he was a _good_ man.

Lena's less-than-savoury side had just as many victories as losses, and the scale of those victories usually made them outweigh the defeats. And for Remus to pretend he understood _that_ – well, after discovering the truth of what she'd done to Irina, it was just too much for Lena.

At least she had cleared up any potential misunderstanding with the almost-kiss. As fun as it had been to tease Remus the last time he thought she was in love with him, she wanted to avoid a repeat incident. Especially as Dumbledore had told her before he left the IHO Headquarters the previous week that he was sending her back to Remus' Defence classes, as he only had time now to privately teach her Charms and Transfiguration.

It was an odd feeling to return to all her classes, no longer having to worry about hiding her inability to use magic. And it was good that was no longer a concern, because Lena had become the centre of attention in the classes – partly because of her mysterious three week absence, but also because of the rumours that had spread and warped about her involvement in Selwyn's expulsion and the other four's voluntary departures. According to some, Lena had used the Cruciatus Curse on them. Others believed she had threatened to murder all their family members if they didn't confess. Lena was surprised at how close some had actually got to the truth – that she had somehow nearly drowned them to death in the Great Lake.

In any case, what really astounded Lena was that unlike her attack on Travers in her First Year, the general response to whatever she'd done to Maggie's attackers was that everyone seemed to _like_ her more. Instead of staring at her with fear, the other students were simply intrigued, and even the teachers were coming across as less hostile – with the exception of Snape, of course, who was giving her the impression that he thought she should have been expelled too.

Returning to her Defence Against the Dark Arts class was a particularly strange feeling. Her Slytherin classmates respected her even more than before, and the Ravenclaws had started asking her for help too – which created a dynamic of their class sort of having two teachers. Lena wasn't sure how Remus felt about that. He didn't seem to have a problem with students looking to Lena for assistance, but since speaking to him at the Lake, she couldn't help notice that he had been slightly more distant with her.

"It's probably just weird for him to have you as a student again," reasoned Rolf, during their Herbology lesson on Lena's first Thursday back. They had partnered up for the period's task of re-potting Snapping Tarragon, a magical herb most commonly used in ointments to treat venomous creature bites."I mean, he wouldn't want to be accused of favouritism."

"But everybody knows I'm the best at Defence Against the Dark Arts," Lena pointed out, filling the new pot with soil. "The teachers would find it more peculiar if I _wasn't_ getting perfect marks."

"Yeah, but it's more than just marks," said Rolf. "Teachers have a duty-of-care for their students, right? Lupin could lose his job if people thought he was being too, uh, _friendly_ with you."

Lena paused what she was doing. "What do mean by 'friendly'?" she asked suspiciously.

Rolf glanced up at her from the old pot, where he was trying to remove the Snapping Tarragon. "Oh, come on, Lena. The two of you–"

He was interrupted by the sound of an angry Maggie.

"Will you stop yanking it like that, you're going to rip the whole plant in two!"

Lena and Rolf both turned to look at her. She was a couple of metres away from them, and was glaring at Oliver Wood, with whom she'd been partnered and was the recipient of her ire.

"How else are you supposed to get it out?" replied Wood grumpily, his Scottish brogue becoming even more pronounced in his annoyance.

"Carefully!" snapped Maggie. "Look, why don't _you_ finish getting the pot ready, and _I'll_ do that." She snatched the Snapping Tarragon away from Wood, who sulkily picked up his trowel and started unceremoniously shovelling dirt into the new pot.

"How long do you reckon until she pushes him into the Venomous Tentacula?" Lena muttered to Rolf, grinning as Maggie proceeded to scold Wood for not taking enough care with how much soil he was putting in.

Rolf snorted. "To be fair to Wood, she _is_ a nightmare to be partnered with in Herbology. She hit me over the head with a piece of Wiggenbush bark last week for spilling Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent on a Snargaluff sapling."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying your decision to partner with me today was not born out of a desire to spend time with me, but to avoid Maggie?"

"Well," said Rolf under his breath as Maggie turned around and approached them, "you're not wrong."

"Can I borrow your Sedation Spray?" Maggie asked them. "McNitwit broke the nozzle on our bottle."

Lena handed her the spray bottle, smirking. "The new partnership has started off swimmingly, then?"

"Oh, fuck off." Maggie looked around to check where Professor Sprout was. Seeing that she was engaged in a discussion with a student from Ravenclaw, she delayed her return to Wood. "So, what are you guys talking about?"

"Rolf seems to be under the impression that Lupin's distancing himself from me because he doesn't want to be accused of being _over_ - _friendly_ towards me," Lena told her. She expected Maggie to agree with her that this was a ridiculous notion.

Instead, Maggie shrugged and said, "I mean, that would be a smart move for him."

"What?" said Lena, thrown. "Why?"

"Well, as I was going to say before," interjected Rolf, "you don't need to have spent every waking minute with you this year to see that the two of you have, er, a..."

"A what?" asked Lena, when he trailed off.

"He means," Maggie answered bluntly, "that you and Lupin have been eye-fucking each other across the Great Hall for the majority of the year."

"Ex-excuse me?" spluttered Lena. "We have _not_ been eye–"

But Maggie wasn't listening. Her attention had been caught by a long Venomous Tentacula vine that was reaching out to strangle an oblivious Wood.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Maggie, practically leaping across the couple of metres separating her from Wood and snatching the vine just before it could wrap itself around Wood's neck.

A startled Wood turned around to see Maggie deftly wrestling his would-be attacker back into its pot on the shelf of the Greenhouse wall.

"Sedation Spray, Lena," she called out, and Lena chucked her the bottle. Maggie caught it and dosed the plant with a heavy quantity. The wriggling vines went still.

"Bugger me," said Wood, staring wide-eyed at Maggie. "That was brilliant."

Maggie awkwardly smoothed her hair back. "It was just the appropriate course of action," she muttered.

Wood shook his head. "But you just handled it like it was nothing, like it was easy!"

Maggie flushed under his impressed gaze. "Yes, well, you should pay more attention to your surroundings," she told him, although she sounded considerably less irritated than she had when she scolded him before.

Instead of arguing, Wood nodded, looking slightly abashed. "So," he said, "what's the proper way of getting this Slapping Tarragon out?"

"Snapping Tarragon," Maggie automatically corrected him, but came over and stood next to him.

Lena and Rolf watched on, stunned, as Oliver Wood hung on to every word Maggie was saying to him about the intricacies of growing Snapping Tarragon, his eyes only ever leaving her face when Maggie specifically indicated to the plant or one of the tools required for its upkeep.

And as she observed the way Maggie's eyes lingered on Wood when he wasn't watching her, and the particular interest she displayed in his well-toned forearms – undoubtedly a consequence of his many years of Quidditch – when he rolled up his sleeves to help her with the re-potting, Lena couldn't resist smirking. ' _Now who's eye-fucking?'_

* * *

 _Friday 8 April, 1994:_

To fall in love with Lena Lestrange, you had to be either a fool or a glutton for punishment.

That was what Remus had told himself, back when he'd thought Lena was in love with him. Now, he was trying to figure out which one he was.

He let out a frustrated groan, dropping his quill and rubbing his temples. He was trying to complete his class plans for the next week, as there were only a couple of days left of the Easter holidays. But he was finding it difficult to concentrate, because his mind kept drifting back to _her_.

He had felt like he was treading water for the last three weeks, desperately trying to keep his head above the surface, because if he sank, there would be no coming back up. If he fell for Lena, that was it – even if, as she had made clear, she didn't want him.

Remus knew he was not a foolish man. Nor a naive one; Sirius' betrayal had cured him of that. So that left him with...

 _'It's the self-loathing that just radiates off you._ ' Those words kept echoing around Remus' head. Lena had sounded so annoyed with him, that he still had the _temerity_ to be disgusted by his condition when she had killed her own grandmother.

He slumped back in his chair, staring up at the office's ceiling. ' _She doesn't understand_ ,' he thought, aggravated. ' _She doesn't know what it's like to remember thinking that the only thing you want to do is_ kill. _'_

A werewolf lived only for violence. At least when Lena took the Orb, she was doing it for knowledge, for power. Hurting people was only a consequence of her actions, not the goal.

A knock on his door drew Remus out of his ruminations. "Come in," he called out, sitting up properly.

It was Snape, bringing Remus his first dose of Wolfsbane for the next full moon.

"Thank you, Severus," said Remus politely as the Potions Master put the goblet down on his desk.

Snape jerked his head in a sharp nod, and spun back around to leave.

Remus stared down at the potion in the goblet. Ever since he'd told Lena that he felt even more ill after a full moon now he was taking it, Lena had made it clear she was suspicious of the Wolfsbane – particularly of what long-term effects it could have on his health.

He pursed his lips. It stopped him from turning into a complete monster every full moon. That was good enough for him. So he picked up the goblet and drained it. Grimacing at the aftertaste, he put the goblet back down. To his surprise, he saw that Snape was still standing in the doorway, watching him closely.

"Was there something I can help you with?" Remus asked him.

Snape hesitated, then remarked indifferently, "I just expected you to be less... _morose_ , after Lestrange returned."

Remus tensed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, don't be coy, Lupin," said Snape, his lips curling in a sneer. "It doesn't take great intellect to see you're obsessed with the girl."

Remus stood up quickly. "I don't like what you're implying, Snape," he snapped, hoping the anger in his voice hid his guilt.

"I wasn't implying anything," replied Snape, unfazed. "I was merely stating a fact."

"Is that so?" said Remus, stepping around his desk and advancing on Snape. "Because it sounded awfully like you were accusing me of behaving inappropriately with Lena Lestrange."

Snape's eyes glinted maliciously. "I only spoke of your blatant feelings, not of you acting upon them – though I don't doubt that you wish you had."

Remus' face flushed, partly in anger, partly in embarrassment. "I would never," he hissed, "abuse my position to take advantage of a student."

"Take _advantage_ of her?" Remus was surprised when Snape laughed. "Lupin, are we talking about the same girl? You couldn't coerce Lestrange into _breathing_ if she decided she didn't want to do it, let alone into your _bed_."

That was the last thing Remus needed right now – the image of Lena lying in his bed, covered by nothing but sheets, lodged in his head.

"You," continued Snape, "are far out of your depth with her. But," he added, giving Remus a disgusted look, "I suppose she works as a nice replacement for Sirius Black."

"She is nothing like him!" said Remus loudly, clenching his fists.

"She is _exactly_ like him," snarled Snape. "More than _you_ know."

For a second, Remus looked at him, confused. Then he remembered. ' _Of course. He was a Death Eater._ '

"If you are referring to Lena's... _history_ with Lord Voldemort," he said quietly, "I'm more than aware of it."

It was Snape's turn to look surprised. He opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, before finally beginning to say, "Yet still you–"

But Remus cut him off. "I have nothing else to say to you on the subject, Severus," he said calmly. He turned around and went back behind his desk. "Thank you again for the Wolfsbane," he added, sitting down.

Snape narrowed his eyes at him, but turned around. His hand was on the door handle, to shut it behind him, when he paused to look back at Remus, who had picked up his quill again and was pretending to work on his class plans.

"Have you ever seen her lose control?"

Remus looked up at Snape questioningly. "Excuse me?"

Snape was no longer looking at him with contempt or hate. Instead, he regarded Remus with a far more serious, grim expression. "Have you ever witnessed Lestrange truly lose control of her temper?" he asked. "Because I have. And believe me, Lupin – hearing about it is not the same thing as seeing it with your own eyes."

Remus paused. He'd seen a frustrated Lena many times during their Patronus lessons. But as aggravated and occasionally nasty as she had gotten, he doubted that Snape was talking about the same thing.

"The environment in which Lena grew up," he replied carefully, "was not conducive to creating... great emotional stability."

"Lestrange isn't the first child to have a difficult childhood," retorted Snape. "Nor will she be the last. You can pin blame on an upbringing to an extent, but at a certain point you have to accept there is an inborn part of someone that makes them who they are. "

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Remus knew that there was truth in what Snape was saying.

He sighed. "Why do you care so much?" he asked. "If this isn't an intervention of a teacher concerned about the welfare of a student, what does it matter to you what happens between Lena and myself?"

Snape folded his arms. "Lestrange _does_ concern me, Lupin. It concerns me very much what she is capable of. So it _matters_ to me that she is able to yet again wrap another grown wizard around her finger."

Remus was unsure of whom Snape was referring to. Voldemort? Dumbledore?

"I don't expect you to listen to me," continued Snape. "So I will just leave you with this: I would rather spend a full moon locked in a room with your mangy alter-ego than I would with an out-of-control Lestrange."

With that, he slammed the office door behind him.

Remus stared at where Snape had stood, his head beginning to hurt. Why did Snape have to go and say a thing like that?

Because the horrible truth was that the more fucked up Lena proved to be, the more irresistible Remus found her.

* * *

 _Saturday 9 April, 1994:_

"Come on, Ron, it'll be fine," Harry tried to reassure his friend.

But Ron shook his head. "She's _your_ friend, Harry. She's barely ever said a word to me, why would she agree to help?"

"Because she's good at helping people with their essays, and Lena likes doing what she's good at," Harry said simply.

Ron still looked unconvinced.

Harry sighed. "You know Hermione's way too busy to properly look over our homework," he said, "and the last thing you want now is to get detention from Snape for handing in an essay that isn't up to scratch. That'll take out time of your research for Buckbeak's appeal."

At last, Ron gave in. "Fine," he said, and followed Harry across the grounds to where Lena was sitting by the Great Lake.

It was the last weekend of the Easter holidays, and Harry's Potions class had an essay due on Monday. Harry, with the assistance of Lena, had already completed his earlier in the week, but Ron's was only half done, and even Harry could tell to call his effort 'mediocre' would be generous.

Lena wasn't sitting alone by the Lake. Her two friends, Maggie Skelton and Rolf Scamander, were both lounging near her, taking notes from a textbook. And sitting cross-legged in front of Lena, their wands out and each holding a teaspoon, were four girls that couldn't have been older than First Years.

One of them, whose black hair was in lots of braids, was asking Lena, "So, it's three zigzags?"

"Correct," said Lena, holding up her own teaspoon. "Like so. _Forciverto_." As she said the incantation, she made a zigzagging motion with her wand, and the teaspoon promptly transformed into a pair of tweezers, which the four girls looked at enviously. It was only then Lena noticed Harry and Ron standing nearby, watching her little lesson. "Hello Harry," she greeted him.

The four First Years swivelled around to look at him curiously.

"Hi Lena," replied Harry, uncomfortable under their gazes. "Do you have a second?"

"Sure, if you can wait a moment," Lena told him. When the girls continued to stare, she snapped her fingers, and they guiltily turned back around to face her. "All right," she said to them, "show me what you can do."

In quick succession, the girls each chanted, " _Forciverto"_ , and were rewarded with varying qualities of tweezers.

Lena inspected each one. "Rebecca, your wand movements were far too rigid, the zigzag needs to flow. Nice work, Erin, you just need a little more confidence when you say the incantation. Tiffany, you really need to focus on the enunciation of your vowel sounds." The last pair of tweezers, however, induced a smile. "Perfect, Eve," she told the girl with braids. "Couldn't have done it better myself. All right, you lot," she addressed all of them again, "skedaddle. Class is over for the day."

There was a chorus of 'Thanks, Lena' as the girls stood up, and they vacated the area.

Rolf let out a theatrical sigh. "And so the mother duck sends her brood out into the wide and dangerous world."

Lena didn't even bother looking at him as she sent a rude gesture his way. "So, what can I do for you, Harry?" she asked.

Harry sat in front of her, and motioned for Ron to copy him. "It's actually Ron who needs the help," he explained. "It's this Potions essay we've got due on Monday."

"About the brain-affecting properties of Sneezewort?"

"That's the one," affirmed Harry. "Could you maybe look over what he's done, and–"

"Make some suggestions for improvement," said Lena, smiling wryly.

"It would be very much appreciated."

Lena extended a hand out to Ron. "Let me have a look at it."

Looking mostly relieved, but a little apprehensive too, Ron pulled his slightly crumpled essay out of his bag and handed it to Lena.

She'd only gotten a few lines in when she glanced back up at Ron, with an expression that was a mixture of bemused and unimpressed.

The tips of Ron's ears went red. "It's a work-in-progress," he muttered.

"I'll say," replied Lena, reading on. "How'd you manage to spell 'psychological' with an 'f'?"

"I'm guessing this may take a while?" said Harry, as Ron's blush spread to his cheeks.

"Well, it's going to take at least a couple of hours," answered Lena. She looked back up at Ron. "Right, grab a new piece of parchment and a quill," she told him, scrunching up his first attempt. "We're going to start from scratch."

There was probably other schoolwork Harry could have been doing, but there was always something so fascinating about watching Lena when she was in what he called her 'teacher mode'. It was remarkable how patient and uncompromising she could be at the same time.

Also, ever since she'd returned to Hogwarts from her convalescing absence, Harry had been searching for excuses to spend time with her. He had a suspicion she'd not been entirely honest with him before she left about just how ill she'd been, and if she relapsed – or however this rare illness worked –he wanted to be sure he had not wasted an opportunity to be with her.

In case this time, she didn't come back.

So Harry lay down on his side, settling in for the remainder of the afternoon. Normally, watching someone try to write an essay would be exceedingly dull. But when the writers of said essay were the bizarre combination of Lena and Ron, Harry had a suspicion that this afternoon would be anything _but_ dull.

* * *

 _Friday 13 May, 1994:_

"You can't seriously believe _Gryffindor_ will beat us! I mean, come on: our entire team are flying on _Nimbus 2001s_."

"Yeah, which are no match for a _Firebolt_."

Lena listened to Gemma and Kahn's argument with mild interest. Tomorrow's Quidditch Cup match was practically all the school had talked about this week – something Lena would usually find tedious, but the thought of Harry humiliating the young Malfoy in front of the rest of the school was quite appealing.

"But Potter's the only one with a Firebolt," argued Kahn. "The rest of them have what, Cleansweep Sevens, or not much better."

Gemma opened her mouth to respond, but Maggie got in first. "But every member of the Gryffindor team is more skilled in their position than any of our players," she said.

Lena resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Maggie was also taking more of an interest in this game than she usually did in the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, but for quite a different reason from Lena.

And that reason was Oliver Wood.

Ever since she had saved him from the Venomous Tentacula at the end of the previous term, Wood had made an effort to partner up with Maggie in every Herbology lesson – attempts that met absolutely no resistance from Maggie, as she quite clearly now fancied the pants off the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.

Unfortunately for Lena and Rolf, Maggie and Wood usually ended up being the pair nearest to them, which meant they had to endure several hours a week of overhearing cringe-inducing attempts at conversation, and seeing the gazes of longing from one when the other wasn't looking.

Seven weeks of pining, even though it was obvious that the two of them were crazy for each other. Lena found it positively maddening.

' _Just say, 'Hey, I really quite fancy you' and then snog their face off_ ,' thought Lena. ' _Why make it so complicated?_ '

Her frustration over Maggie and Wood's inability to communicate their feelings properly quickly disappeared as they turned into the Serpentine Corridor and arrived at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Her stomach knotted. It had been a full moon on Wednesday, so Remus hadn't been there for their class yesterday, which meant she was about to see him for the first time in three days.

Not that three days was a long time to go without seeing Remus now. In fact, since the start of the new term, she had rarely seen him out of class.

It wasn't that he had actually _asked_ her to stop visiting him out of school hours. No, it was the way he behaved when she did. Gone were the days when they could just sit in his office and talk about anything and everything, or do their respective work in a comfortable, companionable silence. Now, he studiously avoided eye-contact with her, gave her short, curt answers when she asked him questions, or simply just made excuses to leave.

It was the revelation of her killing Irina. Lena was sure of it.

Remus wasn't inside the classroom when they entered. Within a few minutes, the entire class had arrived, but as the hour ticked to nine o'clock, their teacher was yet to make an appearance. After another couple of minutes of his absence, Lena started to get worried. Had he overslept? Or had he just gotten caught up in the staffroom? Or–

From within the Defence professor's office, there came a loud noise that sounded like glass shattering. Lena immediately stood, and hurried up the steps to his office.

She knocked on the door. "Professor Lupin," she called out, very aware that the class' attention was on her. "Is everything all right in there?"

There was a brief pause before a voice weakly responded, "I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute."

Lena frowned. He didn't sound fine. Debating whether to just force her way into the office or not, her mind was made up when she heard a _thump_.

She turned the handle, and was surprised to find it wasn't locked. Opening the door slightly, she peered around it to see Remus on his knees, grasping the edge of his desk in an attempt to pull himself to his feet.

Looking back down at the rest of the class, she called out, "Gemma, can you go fetch Professor McGonagall? Quickly, please."

Gemma nodded and hurried out of the classroom.

"No," rasped Remus, staggering to his feet. "I told you, I'm fine. There's no need to bother Minerva."

Not wanting the rest of the class to see him in his present condition, Lena stepped into the office and closed the door. "You are definitely _not_ fine," she told him sternly. She noticed the glass fragments on the floor of the corner of his office – the remnants of the tank in which he often kept Dark creatures for his practical lessons. Its breaking must have been what caused the smashing sound. " _Reparo_ ," said Lena, pointing her wand at the wreckage, and the glass shards melded their selves back into a tank, which she levitated back onto its table. She looked at Remus concernedly, and saw that his hand was bleeding. "You cut yourself," she said, moving closer to him.

"It's just a scratch," muttered Remus, leaning against the desk. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a sheen of sweat covering him.

"Let me see it," said Lena, reaching out to take his hand.

Remus reluctantly let her hold it.

" _Vulnera Sanentur_ ," murmured Lena, slowly tracing her wand over the gash in his palm, and the skin knitted itself back together.

"Thanks," said Remus gruffly. "Now, we better head out, I'm already five minutes late–"

"Absolutely not," said Lena. "You're in no condition to teach today." She firmly gripped his shoulder, attempting to turn him in the direction of his bedroom. "Come on, back to bed."

But Remus shrugged her off. "No," he said, "I already missed classes yesterday, I can't miss them again today." He stepped away from the desk, but only got a couple of feet before his knees began to buckle.

"You're being ridiculous," Lena told him, annoyed. "You wouldn't even be able to get yourself down the stairs, let alone teach a class."

"I can push through it," Remus began to argue, but broke off as his eyes glazed over, and he startled to topple.

Lena managed to bring him down to the floor slowly and safely. She knelt beside him, her hand propping up his back. "This is the Wolfsbane's doing, isn't it," she said softly. "It's making you sick."

Remus' eyes came back into focus, and he looked at Lena sharply. "Maintaining my sanity during a full moon is worth the odd dizzy spell."

"This isn't just feeling a bit off, Remus," argued Lena. "You are _ill_. And I'm willing to bet it's only going to get worse every time you take Wolfsbane."

"Of course _you_ wouldn't understand." He said it under his breath, but Lena caught it.

She glared at him. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Avoiding her gaze, Remus attempted to get to his feet once more. "Doesn't matter," he muttered.

"Oh, I think it fucking does," said Lena, also standing.

"Just leave it," replied Remus, steadying himself.

"No, tell me what you meant."

"Lena–"

"What wouldn't I understand?"

Remus' eyes finally snapped to her, and an angry growl, almost _wolfish_ , escaped him. "You wouldn't understand," he snarled, "what it's like to actually want to _not_ be a monster."

Lena's insides twisted. She was right – Irina's murder had been the final straw for Remus. It was just too much for him to ignore, on top of everything else he had learned about her.

She opened her mouth, not entirely sure herself what she was going to say. However, she was spared from saying something she might have regretted by the door suddenly being opened by Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Lestrange, what is–" she began, but broke off upon seeing Remus, who had started to sway again. "Remus," she said, hurrying to his side, "what on Earth has happened to you?"

"I am fine!" he said loudly.

McGonagall gave him a disapproving look. "There is no need to take that tone with me," she replied tersely, and Remus flinched.

Lena nearly smirked at the sight of him being scolded by the deputy headmistress, like he was once again her student.

"And you are clearly not fine," continued McGonagall, inspecting him. "On the contrary, you look appalling."

Remus began to protest, "But I _feel_ fi–", only to start to fall over again.

Both Lena and McGonagall's hands shot out to steady him.

"That settles it," said McGonagall firmly. "You are in no fit condition to teach today."

"That's what I've been trying to tell him for the last five minutes," grumbled Lena.

"There's only a month left until NEWTs," argued Remus, "and even less than that until OWLs, and the other year levels' exams. I _have_ to teach."

"You're no help to any of the students if you're this unwell," said McGonagall. Then she pursed her lips. "Unfortunately, we're already short-staffed today as it is, with Aurora away at her uncle's funeral and Charity at a conference in London, so there isn't a staff member available to supervise your classes."

Remus looked aghast. "So what, you'll just cancel all Defence classes? Minerva, the students need these lessons, and they need a teacher!"

McGonagall glanced at Lena, before looking back at Remus. "No, that's not what I'm going to do at all. I only said we didn't have a _staff member_ available."

Lena's eyes widened in surprise. Was McGonagall suggesting...

Remus obviously had interpreted the Transfiguration teacher's comment the same way. "You want _Lena_ to teach all my Defence Against the Dark Arts classes today?"

Lena bristled at the incredulity in Remus' tone. Yes, it hadn't occurred to her that McGonagall would suggest it, but Remus _knew_ she was more than competent.

"I see no reason why not," replied McGonagall. "Her marks in the subject indicate that she is well-versed in all the topics of the curriculum for each year level, and as Head Girl, I think we can trust she is responsible enough to supervise a class."

Lena felt oddly pleased by McGonagall's praise. "What about the rest of my classes today?" she asked her.

"I imagine catching up on the content you miss today shouldn't be too difficult for you," said McGonagall wryly. "And I shall inform your other teachers that you will be otherwise occupied today."

"Thank you," said Lena, struggling not to beam.

Remus, however, was still not onboard. "But Lena isn't qualified to teach–"

"Remus," interrupted McGonagall, turning back to him with flared nostrils, "I insist you return to your bed, and get some rest. You are no use to anyone unwell."

"But–"

Lena glared at him. She'd had enough of his protestations, not to mention she was feeling quite insulted by his apparent lack of faith in her to substitute for him. "I swear in the name of all that is magical," she hissed at him, "if you don't go back to bed this minute, I will drag you in there _myself_ , and tie you to the bedposts."

Remus' eyes went as round as saucers, and beside her, McGonagall made a small strangled noise. Lena looked at the two of them, confused. Remus was staring at her, and Lena got the sense he was imagining something...

Lena's cheeks went pink as she finally understood. "Not like that," she blurted out. "I just meant..." She swallowed. Now she couldn't get the image out of her head.

"All right, I'm going," said Remus hastily, stumbling towards his bedroom. As he reached the door, he gestured to his desk. "All my lessons plans are there, so–"

"Just go back to bed," said McGonagall impatiently. "Miss Lestrange will be fine. I have the utmost confidence in her abilities."

As Remus reluctantly nodded and closed the door behind him, Lena couldn't help feeling that as glad as she was that McGonagall believed in her, it would have been nice if Remus had too.

' _He thinks I'm too Dark_ _to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts_ ,' she realised. ' _He isn't worried about my amount of knowledge or training, or my ability to control a class. He thinks I'm_ ethically _incapable._ '

McGonagall cleared her throat, bringing Lena back to the present. The older woman was pointing at the door that led out to the classroom.

"Well, Miss Lestrange," she said, bestowing upon Lena one of her rare smiles, "your class awaits."

* * *

 **So I have to admit: this definitely isn't my favourite chapter. Basically, I've had so many ideas for things that could happen between Lena returning to Hogwarts and the night of the Shrieking Shack, but I want to get to that part as soon as I can. However, there are certain things that need to happen to get Lena and Remus where I want them emotionally by that point. As a consequence, I've got these abrupt time jumps that I'm not fond of, and these small scenes where it's less about an actual scene and properly developing the story, and more about painting a broad picture of what characters are feeling and doing. Hopefully the next chapter will be less like that.**

 **Anyway, if you have any thoughts/feelings on that, do let me know. I'm always interested in criticism from a writing perspective :) Or if you have any other responses to this chapter, please let me know them too. I really do love reading them :)**

 **Now, some responses to reviews:**

 **Saberius Prime: It does seem rather cruel, doesn't it? But there had to be some sort of price for the miraculous treatment. That's not to say there's absolutely no possibility of Lena regaining her fertility at some point. But it wouldn't be any time soon - which is just as well, really, because I don't think Lena's emotionally stable enough yet for pregnancy to actually be a positive experience for her or her potential child. But maybe one day...**

 **Clementsc1992: That's very much a relief to hear that you felt the characters' emotions were real. I'm always worried about the emotions feeling disingenuous or over-written, or the characters just coming across as too stilted or melodramatic. So definitely call me out on it when I do that!**

 **Clara: Considering how long you've been a reader of this story, it always makes my day to see a review from you :) I'm glad you find the background info I invent for and include in the story interesting, I'm always concerned that it might read too much like an excerpt from a textbook, or just be too convoluted for anyone to understand. And regarding Valeriya talking about Lena's childhood - I honestly could probably write a whole other story just focusing on Lena's years living in Switzerland, following her adventures with Valeriya. I won't, because god knows how long it's going to take me to write this one. But I'd definitely love to include some more snippets from Lena's childhood throughout the story :)**

 **Laurafxox: Glad you liked the last two chapters :) And it's good to hear that you want them together. I would hate for it to feel forced. And I'm happy to hear that you think Lena, as an original character, works :)**

 **Well, that's it from me for now. Thank you for reading! Chapter 31 shouldn't be too far away...**


	31. The Duel

**Sorry! I was supposed to update within two weeks, but I ended up having a sort of mental implosion over this story, regarding various directions it could take. Basically, for the majority of writing _To Be Human,_ I'd known where and how I'd wanted it to end. But after finishing the last chapter, about half a dozen other options floated into my mind, and it made writing anything difficult. But at last, here it is: Chapter 31. And again, I apologise for the delay.  
**

 **A huge thank you to rebelforcauses, Laurafxox, Mika, FreidenSchmi, Gallaga8, QuirkyMurderSubject, bridget237 and .5095110 for their reviews (I have a couple of responses in the AN at the end). And thank you and welcome to the new followers and readers, it's incredibly nice to know people are still finding and becoming interested in this story :)**

 **Anyway, on with the story (finally)...**

* * *

 _Saturday 14 May, 1994:_

"And here are the Gryffindors! Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best side Hogwarts has seen in a good few years–"

At Lee Jordan's comment, there was an outburst of boos in the Slytherin section of the Quidditch stands.

Lena glanced at Maggie, who was sitting next to her. Her eyes were fixed on the Gryffindor Keeper, and she was nervously gripping the bench. Lena's eyes met with Rolf's, who was sitting on Maggie's other side, and both their lips twitched.

"I know you're excited to see dream-boy," Lena muttered to Maggie, as Jordan introduced the Slytherin team, "but maybe try and keep it on the down-low. We've already brought an enemy into the camp," she jerked her head at Rolf, "so don't add insult to the injury by letting on you're not only rooting for the opposition, but hoping to shag their captain too."

"Shut up," said Maggie, not taking her eyes off Wood.

Rolf snickered, and Maggie smacked him over the head without looking.

Wood and Flint shook hands, and even from her position high in the stands, Lena could tell they were trying to break each other's fingers.

Madam Hooch told the players to mount their brooms, and seconds later, the game began.

While Maggie's attention throughout the game was firmly upon the Gryffindor goalposts and the boy protecting them, Lena mostly kept her eyes on the two Seekers: her cousin, and the boy who she'd much rather be related to. Both were high above the action, circling the pitch. However, Lena was kept in the loop of what was happening further down by Maggie's sharp intakes of breath and indignant sounds whenever Wood became involved. When she began to jump up from her seat after Bole and Derrick, the Slytherin beaters, hit both bludgers at Wood and caught him in the stomach, Lena had to pull her down.

It was well into what was perhaps the dirtiest game of Hogwarts Quidditch that Lena had ever seen when Harry first saw the snitch. He put on a huge burst of speed, stretching out his hand–

Then Malfoy threw himself forward and grabbed hold of Harry's broom's tail, pulling it back. The Snitch disappeared, and as Malfoy let go of the Firebolt, a furious Madam Hooch zoomed up beside the two Seekers.

"Your cousin's a right little prick, Lena," commented Rolf, as Jordan howled into his megaphone, "YOU CHEATING SCUM! YOU CHEATING, FILTHY BASTARD!"

Lena snorted. "Tell me something I don't know."

Naturally, there was a penalty for Gryffindor against Malfoy's blatant cheating, but Spinnet was so angry that her aim was off, keeping the score at sixty-twenty in Slytherin's favour.

It was another twenty minutes before the Snitch surfaced again. This time, it was Malfoy who spotted it first. He dived towards the ground, a look of triumph on his face.

"Come on, Harry," murmured Lena, and at that precise moment, the Gryffindor Seeker streaked downwards, slowly gaining on his Slytherin counterpart. He flattened himself against the broom handle to dodge a bludger Bole sent at him. A moment later he was at Malfoy's ankles... then he was level, and threw himself forward, taking both hands off his broom. He knocked Malfoy's arm out of the way and–

Lena grinned as Harry caught the Snitch. Beside her, Maggie loudly whispered, "Yes!", while Rolf, momentarily forgetting where he was sitting, let out a whoop, drawing the attention of the surrounding and now angry Slytherins.

"Time to leave, I think," said Lena hastily, standing up. She quickly made her way to the stairs, closely followed by Maggie and Rolf.

By the time they had reached the bottom, the entirety of Gryffindor were streaming onto the pitch, their screams of joy deafening. The three of them watched the presentation of the Cup from there.

"It really means a lot to him, doesn't it?" said Maggie softly, as Dumbledore presented the cup to a sobbing Wood.

Lena shrugged. "It's his passion, I suppose."

Maggie nodded slowly. "Yeah." She watched Wood for a few moments longer, then turned to Lena and Rolf. "Come on, let's head up to the castle, I'm starving."

Lena nodded. She'd leave her congratulations for Harry until the next time she saw him.

But just as they began to leave, there was a loud shout behind them.

"SKELTON!"

They simultaneously turned back around to the pitch. Wood was running towards them, although he clearly only had eyes for Maggie. Lena noticed that behind him, an awful lot of his housemates were curiously watching their victorious Quidditch captain sprint up to a girl from the opposing house.

He came to a stop a few metres away from them, gazing at Maggie. "Hey, Skelton," he said, smiling nervously.

Maggie just stared at him, her mouth slightly parted in surprise. When she still hadn't responded after a few seconds, Lena rolled her eyes and shoved her friend. Maggie stumbled forward, now only a metre away from Wood.

"Wood," Maggie greeted him at last, with an awkward nod. She cleared her throat. "Er, congratulations."

"Thanks," replied Wood, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "Did you, erm, enjoy the game?" His expression suddenly became embarrassed. "I mean, apart from, you know, your team los– not winning," he quickly corrected himself.

"Oh no, it was a great game," said Maggie hurriedly. "I think the best team definitely won."

Wood looked at her like a puppy who'd just been given a treat. "You do?" he said, taking a small step closer.

Maggie nodded. "Yes," she said. "You're very..." she swallowed, as she looked him up and down. "...Damp," she finished distractedly.

"Oh sweet mother of Merlin," Lena muttered to Rolf, pinching the bridge of her nose exasperatedly. "This is excruciating."

Wood glanced down at himself. "It's sweat," he told Maggie, as if it wasn't obvious.

A small, strangled noise escaped Rolf that sounded somewhere between laughter and physical pain.

"Right," said Maggie, edging slightly closer to Wood.

"Yeah," said Wood, edging forward to her.

Lena groaned quietly. "Just snog already," she said under her breath.

Maggie gazed up into Wood's eyes. "You're really good at Quidditch," she said to him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You're really great," breathed Wood.

' _Here it comes_ ,' thought Lena. She could feel Rolf holding his breath beside her.

Wood took Maggie's face in his hands, then crashed his lips down on hers.

"Yes!" Rolf punched the air. "Get it, girl!"

There was an outburst of cheering from the Gryffindors as Maggie, her hands gripping the front of Wood's Quidditch robes, kissed him back enthusiastically. One of the Weasley twins wolf-whistled.

Lena was beaming. As much as she had been teasing Maggie the past couple of months, she genuinely was delighted that her friend had got the boy.

But while everyone else was watching Maggie and Wood snogging each other's faces off, Lena suddenly felt there was one pair of eyes on her. She quickly identified their owner: Remus. He was standing by the side of the pitch with some of the other staff members.

 _'He must be feeling better, then,'_ thought Lena. She hadn't seen him since the previous morning, and was still feeling a mixture of concern and irritation towards him.

It was just guesswork on Lena's behalf, as she didn't really have the resources to properly examine the evidence, but she suspected that in order for the Wolfsbane to allow Remus to maintain control over his mind during a full moon, it was siphoning energy from when he was un-transformed. And Lena was very worried about the sustainability of this process.

But it seemed like Remus didn't want to listen to Lena anymore, which was incredibly frustrating. It also hurt a lot more than she would have liked to admit.

She stared back at Remus, and for a moment, she was tempted to march right over to him, and just have it all out with him. Make him acknowledge that he was uncomfortable about what she'd done to Irina, and her refusal to be broken by it. Make him see that of all the terrible things that could happen to a person, lycanthropy wasn't the worst.

But then Remus turned away from her, drawn into conversation with the other teachers, and the sudden urge to confront him dissolved.

After all, it was so much easier, so less frightening, to let anger and hurt stew inside, than to bring it out into the open.

* * *

 _Tuesday 24 May, 1994:_

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_

Lena let out a small whoop as Maggie's Full Body-Bind Curse hit Robert Hilliard squarely in the chest, and the Ravenclaw Prefect went rigid, hitting the ground with a _thud_.

"Well done, Maggie!" Remus congratulated her, smiling warmly. He quickly performed the counter-curse on Hilliard, and helped him to his feet. "Yet another victory to Slytherin. What's the score now, Fakhir?"

Kahn grinned. "Six-to-two," he informed him, and there was a cheer from all the Slytherins.

They were in the Great Hall for their Defence Against the Class today. It was their last week of normal classes before they began a three week long study period for NEWTs, and Remus had wanted to give the class a proper opportunity to practise duelling. So they had pushed the house tables to the sides of the Hall to create a decent space, and were having a small Slytherin versus Ravenclaw competition.

"Well," said Remus, "I think that was our last pair, which is just as well, since it's lunchtime in a couple of minutes. Very well done, all of you! Your duelling capabilities really are excellent, particularly with the, er, _uneven_ standard of teaching throughout your time at Hogwarts–"

"Hold up, Professor," interrupted Aloysius Burke. "Not everyone's had a turn." He looked at Lena. "Lestrange hasn't duelled yet."

All heads swivelled to Lena, who was sitting on one of the house tables.

She shrugged. "There's an odd number in our class, someone had to be left over. Besides," she added with a dry smile, "I'm fairly confident in my duelling skills, I don't think I need the extra practise the rest of you do."

"Maybe _you_ don't," said Terrence Higgs, "but wouldn't it be, uh, _educational_ for us to see you in action?"

There were hurried nods and murmurs of agreement from the rest of the Slytherins. Even Maggie looked eager.

Lena looked across at the Ravenclaws, who were sitting on the tables on the other side of the Hall. "Any of you fancy another round?" she called out, quirking an eyebrow.

In response, she received a lot of shakings of heads and various versions of, "Nah, I'm good, thanks."

"No, Lestrange," said Thaddeus Accrington. "Not against any of _them_." He turned and looked pointedly at Remus, who squirmed slightly as the rest of the class followed Accrington's gaze.

"Oh, I don' think so," said Remus quickly, studiously avoiding Lena's eyes. "As I said, it's lunchtime now and the rest of the school will be wanting to use the Hall to eat. So–"

"Oh, come on, sir," interjected Burke. "Just one quick duel. Doesn't Lestrange deserve the same opportunity to practise as the rest of us?"

"I'm sure it won't hurt her to miss it," replied Remus evenly. "Now, off the tables, everyone, so I can move them back–"

There were cries of protestation from both sides.

"Please, Professor–"

"But we've never seen a _proper_ duel before–"

"Think how much we'd learn from watching both of you–"

"That's enough," said Remus loudly, beginning to look annoyed. "Class is over, collect your things and–"

"He just doesn't want to do it because he's afraid of losing in front of all of you." The words were out of Lena's mouth before she knew what she was saying.

The rest of the Hall went silent. For the first time since the Quidditch Cup, Remus looked directly at Lena, his eyes narrowed. He clenched his jaw.

"I beg your pardon?" he said coldly.

She was in dangerous territory, but a recklessness, born out of weeks of annoyance, frustration and hurt bubbling inside her, had quite suddenly overtaken Lena. She wanted a _fight_.

"I said," she answered calmly, inspecting her nails uninterestedly, "that you're scared of me making you look like a fool."

The tension that had filled the Hall could have been cut with a knife.

Remus slowly advanced towards her. "My refusal to duel you," he said quietly, "is not a matter of my pride. It is logistical."

Lena looked up at him, a sneer on her lips. "Sure it is."

Remus' eyes flashed in anger. "Are you suggesting that I'm a coward?"

She cocked her head. "Why yes," she said simply. "Yes I am."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other students, and in the blink of an eye, Remus was standing right in front of Lena, gripping his wand tightly.

"Get your wand out," he hissed, "and _get up_." Then he spun around, and marched over to the centre of the Hall, the beginning position for the duels.

Lena could barely contain an expression of glee as she stood up. She had already discarded her robe earlier in the lesson, but now she also pulled off her school jumper. As she approached Remus, she rolled up the sleeves of her shirt and undid her top button to loosen her tie. Remus, meanwhile, had shed his robe and Banished it to the edge of the Hall.

Whispering in excitement, the rest of the class moved closer to the Hall's centre, forming two lines on either side of Lena and Remus. Kahn was allocated the position of referee.

"All right, then. Backs to each other," he told Remus and Lena. "Now, take ten paces..."

As they began to take their steps, Accrington began to slowly clap in time with their footfalls, and the rest of the class joined in.

"Now turn and face your opponent," Kahn called out over the clapping, which started to build in speed as Lena and Remus halted and turned. "On the count of three, you will fire your first spells. Remember," he added, "the duel is only over when one of you yields, or is incapacitated to the point where you can't make that decision."

Lena smirked at Remus, who glared back at her. "One minute," she said to him, twirling her wand in her hand. "One minute, and you'll be begging me for mercy."

Remus raised his eyebrows, and pushed his sleeves up. "Be careful, Lena," he warned her lightly. "Keep talking yourself up like that, and the only thing you'll prove yourself to be is a disappointment."

"Wands ready," said Kahn, and two opponents raised their wands, moving into their starting positions. "And one..."

The clapping ceased as the class collectively held their breath.

"... Two... _three._ "

* * *

Remus knew Lena well enough to know that she would have a non-verbal spell ready to go the moment Kahn reached 'three', so he prepared himself with a Deflection spell.

Sure enough, a jet of red light shot out of Lena's wand, which Remus was able to deflect. Another two streams of red light followed in rapid succession, and Remus just managed to keep them at bay too.

Instead of continuing with the onslaught, Lena moved out of her attacking position, and assumed a defensive. Remus decided to hold back on an attack for a little longer, and the two began to slowly circle each other.

He had a suspicion that Lena had known exactly what she was doing by calling him a coward. She had wanted to rile him up. He wasn't an idiot – he knew she'd been mad at him since the Friday morning she had found him ill in his office. And he also knew that she thought he was angry with her.

He wasn't, of course. Frustrated by her inability to acknowledge that his lycanthropy was such a serious condition, and that it wasn't just a monthly problem, yes. But the only person with whom he was angry was himself. And he was doing his best to distance himself from Lena because she was the reason for his self-directed anger.

She was a deeply damaged young woman, and instead of wanting to fix her, he was attracted to that damage.

Distracted by these thoughts, Remus sidestepped Lena's next attack barely in time. He winced at the slight burning sensation the pale blue stream of light caused as it just clipped his shoulder.

' _Focus_ ,' he told himself. He had no desire to hurt Lena, but he also had absolutely no intention of losing this duel in front of the class – or at least, not being humiliated in the quite likely possibility of defeat.

He quickly fired off several hexes, all of which Lena batted away effortlessly, her eyes never leaving his face. The corners of her lips turned up in what Remus thought was quite frankly a predatory smile, which sent a small shiver down his spine – a little out of fear, but mostly from anticipation.

He cocked his head slightly at her, silently asking, _'Is this the best you can do?_ '

Lena clearly deciphered the look, and arched an eyebrow in response. ' _Are you sure you want to see the best I can do?'_ was the reply Remus interpreted.

A second later, there was a flurry of spells from both sides, accompanied by quick footwork, ducking and weaving to avoid the attacks they didn't have time to repel. And all the while, neither pair of eyes left the other. A split-second distraction was a split-second too much. Even the opening of the Great Hall's doors was not enough to break their concentration.

* * *

"What's going on?" said Ron, frowning as he pointed at the Great Hall's entrance. The doors had been left open, but a large crowd of students were blocking the way. They appeared to be watching something that was happening inside.

Harry tensed. What if Black had struck again?

"Come on," he muttered to the other two, and began to squeeze his way through the crowd to get inside the Hall. As he drew closer, he started to notice the occasional gasps from the other students, and their awestruck expressions, and he relaxed; surely anything to do with Black would inspire fear, not wonder.

Finally, Harry, Ron and Hermione found a gap in the crowd where they could see what was happing in the centre of the hall, and they joined the other students in their astonishment as their jaws dropped open.

Lena and Lupin were duelling. At least, this was what Harry assumed a proper wizard's duel to be – unlike his experience in Second Year with Lockhart's duelling club. And now, Harry could understand what all the fuss was about. This wasn't just desperately firing off jinxes and hexes at each other. It was... it was... _incredible_.

Both duellists had removed their robes and rolled up their shirtsleeves. They held their wands as if they were simply extensions of their own arms. They rarely ever said their incantations out loud; Harry assumed neither of them wanted to give away to the other what was coming next.

Lupin's wand movements were sharp and precise. Harry watched as he flicked his wand jaggedly up and down, sending a stream of green fire at Lena, his feet parted in a way that ensured he would be able to quickly sidestep anything she would immediately shoot back at him.

When the green fire was only a couple of feet away from Lena, she sliced her wand downwards through the air, and the fire split in two, both parts swerving around her and whizzing just over the heads of the Seventh Year Slytherins who were lined up on one side of the hall and crashing into the wall. Lena, however, had not waited to see what happened to the fire – as soon as she had split it, she had in one swift motion brought her wand up again in a figure-of-eight, and shot a yellow jet of light at Lupin, who fired another curse at precisely the same moment. His red light and her yellow collided into each other and exploded, making a loud _boom_ that echoed throughout the Hall.

Lena's wand technique was much more fluid than Lupin's, Harry noticed as they sent another round of spells at each other. She seemed like a very instinctive duellist, as opposed to Lupin's more calculated approach. It surprised Harry. Lena was usually so deliberate in her words and actions – of course, with the exception of when she was angry or upset.

"Bloody hell," murmured Ron, when Lena sent a volley of spells at Lupin in almost unbelievably quick succession, constantly moving as she did so they came from a slightly different direction each time. "How does she get them off so fast? Surely that's not enough time to say the whole incantation that many times, even if it's in her head."

"Perhaps there's a way to abbreviate them," said Hermione, not taking her eyes off the duel as Lupin only just managed to deflect all of Lena's attacks. "Do you think if we asked her after they've finished, she'd tell us, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was beaten to it by someone else.

"I'm sure she'd be happy to give you a two hour-long lecture on the theory behind it."

The trio's attention was drawn momentarily away from the duel by the arrival of the newcomer. It was Rolf Scamander. He was standing next to Harry, watching Lena and Lupin. Harry couldn't help but notice that unlike everyone else, his expression was less awestruck, and more, well... _odd_.

Ron and Hermione's gazes were quickly drawn back to the duel as Lupin made a whipping motion with his wand, and what looked like a gold rope lashed at Lena.

But as she waved her wand and appeared to catch the rope, Harry looked back at Rolf, who was chewing on his lip thoughtfully.

Quietly, so as not to be overheard by Ron and Hermione, he asked Rolf, "Is something the matter?"

Rolf glanced down at him. "What makes you think that?" he responded mildly.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted.

Rolf eyed him a little longer, then looked back at Lena. Just as Harry thought that Rolf wasn't going to say anything else, the older boy spoke.

"Lena's holding back."

Harry's eyebrows flew up. " _This_ is Lena holding back?" he said, a little stunned. "She's going easy on Lupin?"

"That's not exactly what I meant," said Rolf quickly. "Lupin _is_ good – and that's the problem. She's not holding back her skill, but she's holding back from hurting him." Seeing Harry's quizzical expression, he elaborated, "If he was just average, let alone _bad_ , she could have just Disarmed him or put him in a Full Body-Bind as soon as the duel began. And if it was anyone else who was this good – Snape, for instance – she'd have used some super powerful spell to incapacitate them by now. Nothing irreversible or too Dark, but something with enough behind it to make an opponent yield. But because it's _Lupin_..." he trailed off, seeming unsure of whether to continue.

Harry felt confused. "I know she likes him more than Snape," he said. "But it's _duelling_. Nobody goes into one expecting their opponent to be nice, to actively try _not_ to hurt them. That would just be crazy."

Rolf snorted. "Which is exactly what Lena would say," he said quietly. "If she was, you know, thinking straight."

"Why isn't she?" persisted Harry, watching as Lena easily deflected another one of Lupin's curses.

"As I said," answered Rolf, his mouth twitching: "Because it's _Lupin_."

Opening his mouth to again ask why, Harry stopped as something clicked in his head.

He gaped at Rolf. "Are you saying," he finally whispered, now more than ever not wanting to be overheard, "that you think Lena is _in lo_ –"

He was interrupted by the gasps of surrounding students as lightning suddenly flashed across the Hall's sky-like ceiling. Hastily turning his attention back to Lena as a rumble of thunder filled the Hall, Harry saw that she had raised her wand, rotating it clockwise, and this appeared to be having some sort of effect on the ceiling.

Lupin took this as an opportunity to send a jet of red light at her. But Lena, without ceasing the circular wand movement, held up her free hand, and just inches away from it, the stream of red hit an invisible barrier and rebounded straight back to Lupin, who managed to bat it away.

There were some sharp intakes of breath and many _Ooh_ s of surprise at the display of wandless magic. Even Lupin seemed slightly taken aback by it. He appeared to get over his surprise quickly, however, and raised his wand in preparation of another assault. But he paused, distracted, when a continuous stream of silvery-blue light shot out of Lena's wand and up to the ceiling, seemingly connecting the two. There was another flash of lightning, closely followed by more thunder.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Rolf had started to grin.

"What's she doing?" he asked the Hufflepuff.

"Oh, I have no idea," said Rolf honestly. "But as Maggie would probably say: this shit's about to get _real_."

The ceiling-sky was swirling with purple-grey thunderclouds, lightning flashing behind them every few seconds. Rain, almost torrential, began to pour down into the middle of the Hall, causing some of the students to curse and shuffle back out of it. Lupin, who quickly became soaked, tried sending another few spells at Lena, but her wandless shield deflected all of them.

Then, without warning, Lena violently swung her wand downwards, breaking its connection with the ceiling. A huge, fork of lightning struck the floor between the duellists, eliciting shrieks and squeals and cries from the onlookers as their hands covered their eyes to shield them from the blinding light.

And barely audible, over the thunder, the downpour and the exclamations of panic, there came the cry of " _Expelliarmus_!"

Harry watched as the unprepared Lupin's wand flew out of his hand, and across the Hall to his opponent, who deftly caught it in her free hand. Her own wand was still firmly pointed at him.

"Do you yield?"

Lena's voice rang out across the Hall, clear and strong. Her gaze was intent upon Lupin as she stood there, drenched in the rain of her own making – which had not yet ceased, nor the thunder or flashes of lightning in the ceiling.

And Lupin, equally sopping wet, was staring back at her, his chest heaving. But despite having lost the duel, he didn't look dismayed. He didn't even appear shocked at how Lena had bested him.

No, to Harry, it seemed as though Lupin was looking at Lena as if he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

After a long moment, the Defence Professor finally replied. "I yield."

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Lena shook her head. "No," she told Remus, "I am. I should never have called you a coward."

They were sitting on the edge of his desk in his office, each with a cup of tea in their hands. Lena had come there straight after dinner, not having had a chance to speak to Remus after their duel until then.

"I appreciate that," said Remus, smiling at her gently. "But I knew you were trying to, er, _motivate_ me into duelling. And you wouldn't have felt the need to do that if I hadn't been trying to push you away these past couple of months. I..." he hesitated, before continuing, "I haven't been a very good friend to you lately, when I should have been."

"I told you I murdered my grandmother," Lena pointed out. "I don't think wanting to put some distance between me and yourself was unreasonable."

Remus took a sip of tea. "But that wasn't why I started avoiding you, Lena," he said quietly.

Lena looked at him, surprised. "It wasn't?"

He shook his head. "It was what you said about my self-loathing," he explained. "It... well, it hit me a bit harder than I would have expected."

Lena's insides twisted in guilt. "Remus, I'm sorry, I–"

"Wait," interrupted Remus hurriedly, holding a hand up, "let me finish. It was particularly what you said about it being the biggest reason you found it easy being around me. And it got me thinking, what if that's what this whole relationship is built on – that we're both... damaged."

"And that bothered you?" asked Lena hesitantly after a pause.

After he'd taken another sip, Remus carefully replied, "I don't think it's healthy for the foundation of anything to be something that is inherently broken. Sharing in pain can be good for you, but not if that's all there is to share. So," he shrugged slightly, "I distanced myself from you. But when we duelled today, you reminded me that it wasn't everything in your life that has messed you up that initially..." he searched for the right phrase, "well, drew me to you."

Tilting her head curiously, Lena inquired, "Then what was?"

Remus looked her in the eye. "That you're brilliant."

Lena blushed and stared down into her tea. "Well," she said, taking a few seconds to find her voice, "you're not so bad yourself."

And he really wasn't. She had known he wouldn't be bad at duelling, but she hadn't been expecting him to be as good as he was. Which was foolish of her, really – he had fought in and survived a war, after all.

She had also been surprised by the feelings that had stirred inside her certain... _lower_ places at the end of their duel, when he had stood there, slightly out of breath and soaking wet. Combined with how well he had performed in the duel, the whole effect had made her more attracted to Remus than she'd even been. And nearly eight hours later, those feeling were yet to subside.

The sound of Remus chuckling made her finally look back up at him.

"I try my best," he told her, his eyes twinkling.

Lena returned his smile, but not trusting herself to say anything else in that moment that she might end up regretting, simply took a gulp of tea.

"You must practise duelling with Valeriya a fair amount during your holidays," commented Remus. "I can't imagine you get much of an opportunity here."

"Principally with her, yeah," confirmed Lena. "But I've had a few chances to go up against some of her friends and associates."

"Lost any of them?"

"Not in the last few years, no."

"And before that?"

Lena wrinkled her nose. "Before then doesn't count," she said delicately. "And what about you?" she asked, intrigued. "Who taught Remus Lupin his moves?"

"I think it's mostly down to the fact that we just practised duelling more regularly in Defence back in my day," admitted Remus. "What with there being a war on and all. And with my most frequent partners being James and Sirius–" He broke off, a shadow passing over his face.

Lena considered quickly changing the topic, but an intense curiosity at the mention of Sirius' name had sprung up inside her. They had never discussed him much since she had told Remus she'd figured out his previous friendship with her cousin. Pretty much all she knew was that Remus, Sirius, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew had been the closest of friends at Hogwarts, but that had all been torn apart when the Potters had gone into hiding via the Fidelius Charm and made Sirius their Secret Keeper.

In the end, she was saved from having to make a decision when Remus made it for her.

"You really never saw him?" he asked her. "At any Death Eater meeting?"

"Well, not every single meeting was held at the Lestrange Estate," said Lena. "But most of them were, and he was never at any of them. And Bellatrix certainly didn't seem to know he was on their side. As far as she was concerned, he was a Blood Traitor like her sister Andromeda." She screwed up her eyes, trying to remember everything she had seen and heard when the Death Eaters congregated at her house. "But if I recall correctly," she told Remus, "most of them did know there was a spy in– what was Dumbledore's group called again?"

"The Order of the Phoenix."

"Right. I'm sure I heard on a couple of occasions Death Eaters mentioning there was a rat in the Order."

Remus suddenly went very still, his face paling.

Alarmed, Lena immediately asked, "Remus, what's wrong?"

"They said that?" he said tightly. "They used that exact word: rat?"

Lena frowned. "I'm pretty sure that's the term they used. Why? It's not a particularly unusual metaphor."

Standing up, Remus put his mug down on the desk. "That's the thing, Lena," he said to her, his face grave. "I'm worried it wasn't a metaphor."

* * *

 _Thursday 2 June, 1994:_

Lena strolled down the corridor leading to the Slytherin Dungeon's entrance, returning from her Prefect patrol. She would not, however, be heading to bed when she reached her dorm. No, for Lena, her night was only just about to begin – a night of making her next batch of Moramortis. She'd already set up a cauldron early that morning, and put in the first lot of ingredients.

Turning the corner, she came to a halt. Standing a few feet in front of her were an intertwined Maggie and Oliver Wood, saying a rather enthusiastic goodbye after their date.

Lena coughed loudly. " _Ahem_."

Maggie and Wood broke apart with a noise like a plunger, their faces slightly panicked until they saw who it was.

"Oh," said Maggie, relieved. "It's just you."

Lena quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, just me – the Head Girl whose job it is to report students she catches breaking curfew."

Wood began to look anxious again, but Maggie just snorted. "Oh please, like you would."

Lena sighed theatrically. "No, I suppose I'm far too much of a benevolent leader to do that." She looked at Wood. "But Weasley, on the other hand, is a megalomaniac and still out patrolling. So I'd hightail it back to the Gryffindor Tower before he gets there first and realises you're not there, if I were you."

Wood nodded quickly. "Right, thanks for the warning." He pecked Maggie on the cheek, smiling at her affectionately. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you then," replied Maggie softly.

As Wood was about to pass Lena, she shot a hand out, stopping him. "Just a second," she said pleasantly. "We haven't really had a chance to talk since you started dating Maggie, so we don't know each other very well."

"Erm, I suppose not," said Wood, looking a little confused.

"Well," Maggie cut in, "I'm sure that can be rectified another time." Evidently, she had an idea of what Lena was going to say, and was hoping to avoid it. "But now, Oliver really needs to be getting back–"

"Yes," continued Lena, ignoring Maggie, "so I would just like to take this opportunity–"

"You're just going to do it anyway," muttered Maggie, crossing her arms and adopting a long-suffering expression.

"– To tell you," Lena went on, "that if you ever hurt Maggie, I will rip out your larynx and let you drown in your own blood."

Wood instinctively took a step back.

"Oh my god," mumbled Maggie, "you're so embarrassing."

Lena smiled sweetly at Wood. "Just thought you ought to know that."

Wood stared at her for a couple of seconds, before looking between Maggie and Lena. Then, appearing to come to some sort of resolution, he swallowed and took a step closer to Lena.

"Lestrange," he told her, "if I ever hurt Maggie, I hope that's the _least_ you would do to me."

Maggie made a small surprised noise, and looked at Wood as if she would very much like to snog him one more time before he left.

Lena simply winked. "Right answer, Wood." She jerked her thumb back. "Now, get a move on."

Wood flashed one more smile back at Maggie, then left.

"I've decided I approve of your boyfriend," announced Lena to Maggie as they walked up to the Slytherin Dungeon's entrance. " _Astutia_."

"And why would we need your approval?" grumbled Maggie as the wall opened.

"Oh, you don't need it," said Lena, leading the way through the passage. "But you _want_ it."

Maggie didn't bother replying; there was no need for affirmation.

After they'd made their way through the common room and were heading down the stairs to their dorm, Lena spoke again. "However, as much as I'm supporting you in this – please tell me you've looked into contraceptive potions."

"Lena!"

"What?" said Lena, shrugging. "If that display I walked into back there is anything to go by, the two of you aren't having any trouble embracing the physical side of a relationship, and I just want to make sure you're prepared." Reaching their dormitory door, she opened it and walked inside.

Maggie shut the door behind them. "I appreciate that concern," she told Lena in a strangled sort of voice. "But Oliver and I aren't quite at that... _stage,_ yet."

"Maybe not," said Lena, walking over to her bed to greet Mortimer, who was on her bedside table. After saying hello, she looked back at Maggie. "But it would be wise to at least start thinking about getting your hands on that sort of protection."

"Fine," replied Maggie, flopping down onto her bed. "I'll look into it." Then she added slyly, "Seeing as you and Lupin can't be that far off from shagging each other senseless, are you looking into it too?"

Lena, who was making her way over to the cauldron in the corner of the room, paused mid-step as she felt a twinge in her stomach. "That's really not a concern for me," she said quietly.

"Oh, come on," said Maggie. "In less than two months, you'll no longer be a student, and there'll be nothing to stop you from–"

"Maggie, I can't have children."

It was the first time she had said those words aloud, and the amount of weight behind them surprised Lena.

"What do you mean?" asked Maggie, frowning as she sat up.

Lena started walking to the corner again, glancing over at Maggie. "This," she said simply, pointing at the cauldron. "The Moramortis. The side-effect of taking it is that it causes infertility."

Maggie stared at her, seemingly lost for words.

"I mean," continued Lena, sitting down behind the cauldron, "it's not like I'd ever given much thought to, you know, being a mother. And on the rare occasion I did, it wasn't about whether I wanted kids or not, but just how bad a mother I'd make."

Getting off her bed, Maggie came over to sit on the other side of the cauldron.

Lena wasn't really sure why she was telling Maggie all this now. After the initial odd feeling she had gotten when Healer Ghali told her about the infertility, Lena had shoved the whole thing to the back of her mind, and hadn't properly thought about it at all over the last twelve weeks. But now that it had cropped back up, she couldn't stop talking about it.

"But then I just got this weird feeling," she explained to Maggie, "when Healer Ghali told me I wouldn't be able to have children. Not because I wanted them, but because I..." she paused, not sure how to put it into the right words. "But because," she said at last, "I always thought that it would be my choice to make."

Maggie nodded. "I get that," she said quietly.

"Do you?" asked Lena, a little surprised. She started adding ingredients to the potion. "Because I'm not sure I fully do."

Pulling up her knees so she was hugging them, Maggie said, "Well, neither of us really had great experiences with our own mothers growing up, yours being an abusive bitch and mine..." She hesitated. "I might not have much memory of her, but I've learnt what happened."

Lena momentarily paused her potion-making, looking up at Maggie. "You don't have to tell me."

Maggie took a deep breath. "It's fine," she told Lena. "Basically, she had me when she wasn't ready to be a mother. She didn't know how to take care of a baby, never mind herself." She stared down at her knees. "She overdosed. That's how she died." Before Lena could say anything, Maggie looked back up at her, and continued, "What I'm trying to say is that our childhoods taught us that not every woman has maternal instincts. A mother's love for a child, particularly one that overpowers everything else, isn't universal. That's why–"

"That's why it being a _choice_ has always been so important to us," finished Lena, resuming her potion-making. "Knowing whether we want children or not is supposed to be a moment in our lives that becomes a part of who we are. Now I never have to make that choice, it feels like something is missing." She glanced up at Maggie, half-smiling. "When did you get so smart about emotions and shit?"

Maggie laughed softly. "I guess that after seven years of being friends with you, I was bound to start thinking about this kind of stuff on my own." Her face brightened. "But going back to this summer–"

Lena sighed. "Oh, here we go," she muttered.

"–are you thinking of trying to start something with Lupin?"

"Maggie, I don't even know if he's interested," said Lena exasperatedly.

"He is!" insisted Maggie. "Seriously, how can someone as smart as you be so thick about this?"

"Because I know _he_ 's not an idiot!" argued Lena. "I'm hardly a catch, what with all the pretty undesirable family connections, emotional and physical health instability, and the, you know, _murder_ stuff."

Maggie shrugged. "Lots of people are into some weird and freaky shit."

"Thanks," said Lena wryly, "I feel so much better already."

"Look," said Maggie forcefully, "are _you_ in love with him?"

Although Lena kept making the Moramortis, her brain temporarily froze. In love with Remus?

At least after the duel, she now knew she fancied him a bit. And she could deal with that. But _love_ , compared to 'fancy', was such a big word. A messy, complicated and quite frankly dangerous word to Lena. To care about someone was all right. She cared about quite a few people: Maggie, Rolf, Harry, Valeriya, and certainly Remus. But she had only ever really loved one person. And of all the things in her life that had screwed her up, loving him was probably the biggest.

Not that the past week had given her much opportunity to investigate possible romantic feelings towards Remus. She was too concerned about him. He'd been acting strangely ever since she'd told him about how the Death Eaters had referred to Sirius as the 'rat in the Order', and he wouldn't tell her precisely why this had upset him so much. But now they were finally back on good terms with each other, Lena had no desire to push him away again so soon by pressing him on the matter. She'd find out what the problem was eventually – of that, she was certain.

"No," she finally told Maggie, "I'm not. But he's important to me." She cleared her throat. "As is making this Moramortis – you know, the _life-and-death_ kind of important. So if you could finish pestering me and let me get on with it, I'd greatly appreciate it."

Maggie rolled her eyes and huffed, but stood up. "Okay," she said, "but we _will_ be resuming this conversation tomorrow."

"Oh joy."

Maggie picked up her stuff for her shower. Just as she was about to go into the bathroom, she paused. "Lena?"

"What now?" replied Lena, not taking her eyes off the measuring cup she was using.

"Thank you for telling me about the... the infertility thing." She gave Lena a small smile. "It means a lot that you felt like you could share that with me."

Lena finally looked over at her, and returned the smile. "Thank you for understanding. And helping me understand too."

Maggie nodded, then disappeared into the bathroom. But a moment later she popped her head out again. "And Lena?"

"Yes?"

She grinned. "I'd rip out a guy's larynx for you too."

* * *

 **Fun fact: _To Be Human_ is now longer than _Goblet of Fire_. So, that's... something, I guess.**

 **Another fun fact: "Rip out your larynx and let you drown in your own blood" was a threat one of the science teachers at my school liked to use on students.**

 **Now, some responses to the reviews for the previous chapter:**

 **Laurafxoxo: I'm glad you liked Maggie and Oliver :) I know it kind of comes from out of nowhere, but I liked the way it sort of worked as a contrast to Lena and Remus. Plus, I was kind of disappointed that I'd never written anything for Oliver, because I think his character's hilarious, and I just felt there was something about him that would work well with Maggie. Yes, I think there are some definite similarities between Lena and Sirius, and I'm looking forward to exploring their relationship further on in the story. And don't apologise for long reviews: I love them, and wholeheartedly encourage them :)**

 **FreidenSchmi: Thank you muchly for all your kind words. It's wonderful that you're enjoying the complexity I've tried to build within Lena. As for avoiding 'a fluffy sappy romance story' or an 'angsty' one - I will always do my best to keep the story a balance of light and dark. So please feel free to call me out if you think I'm leaning into one side too much. I'm glad you like the Lena and Dumbledore relationship, it's one I really enjoy writing. Regarding action and adventure: you're right, the story does need more. Hopefully, I'll be able to deliver as we move forward :)**

 **QuirkyMurderSubject: Believe me, I was concerned when I started writing this that nobody would be interested in reading a story where one half of the main pairing doesn't show up for seventeen chapters. But that was a good motivation for me to make Lena as compelling a character as I could, and I'm delighted that she didn't bore you :) It's nice to hear that you're interested in both Remus' and Voldemort's relationships with Lena. Regarding Diary-Riddle's romantic desire for Lena - I'd comment on it, but as it's very likely that's going to be brought up again within the story, I'll leave it for now. 'Adorable and complicated' is very much the vibe I'm going for between Lena and Remus, so it's awesome you said that :) As for Sirius and Remus: all I'll say for now is that there was never an actual romantic relationship between the two, and that Snape was just referring to the fact they were very close friends. But there is, perhaps, more to it than that... which, yes, will be explored later.**

 **As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts/feelings/criticisms on Chapter 31, and any predictions as to where the story might be heading. Also, I'd be very interested to hear what your favourite moments or scenes of _To Be Human_ (if you have any) might be. Or least favourite, that would be good as well. That sort of feedback is incredibly useful in terms of figuring out what stuff to put more focus on.**

 **So, until next time (which I swear will be sooner than the last next time!), cheers :)**


	32. Truth Has a Habit

**So because I took so long with the last update, I thought I'd try to get this one up as quickly as possible. Hopefully, it's a pretty exciting one :)  
**

 **Thank you to all the amazing reviewers, particularly those who answered my question in the last AN. As always, I have some responses at the end of the chapter :)**

 **Right, I'll let you get on with reading... (Hope you enjoy!)**

* * *

 _Thursday 9 June, 1994:_

It was just before nine o'clock, and Lena was beginning her Prefect patrol on the Ground floor. As she passed by the large window in the Clock Tower Entrance, her eyes lingered on the sky outside. It was still reasonably light, and the full moon that would rise tonight was yet to appear. As she continued on her way towards the Entrance Hall, Lena's mind drifted to Remus, who would have locked himself in his office by now.

He still wouldn't tell her what was bothering him so much about the 'rat' comment, so Lena had resolved to wait until her NEWTs were over to broach the topic again. He had four Year Levels worth of Hogwarts exams to conduct and mark until then – plus OWLs – anyway, so it really wasn't the time for either of them to indulge in distractions. Not that Lena was really spending that much time on study for her exams – she was too busy helping everyone else with theirs.

Finishing her checks in the Entrance Hall, she was about to head upstairs to the First floor when, to her shock, Harry and Hermione came running down the steps, both in dishevelled and clearly distressed states.

"What the hell's happened to–" Lena began, but was cut off by Hermione.

"There's no time to explain everything," she rushed. "Look, in about a minute, Dumbledore, the Minister for Magic, and two members of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures are going to come down here. You need to delay them from leaving the castle for a few minutes."

Lena stared at her. "What? Why?"

"Because Dumbledore wants you to."

Feeling quite lost, Lena started to say, "But if he wants to be delayed, why–" It hit her. "Are you two time travelling?"

There was a beat, then Harry and Hermione said, "Yes," in unison.

Lena immediately wanted to know what had happened – or rather, what was _going to_ happen – for Hermione to break her promise to McGonagall and bring Harry back in time with her, but she had also read enough time travel theory to know that was absolutely what she wasn't allowed to know.

"All right," she told them, "I'll see what I can do. And where are you two going?"

"Down to Hagrid's," replied Harry.

"But that's all we can say," said Hermione, shooting him a warning look.

 _'Hagrid's Hippogriff,'_ realised Lena. ' _It must have lost its appeal, and is supposed to be executed._ ' Was this some sort of rescue mission then?

There came a sound of voices from the top of the stairs.

"Go," hissed Lena, shooing them towards the door, "and good luck."

Harry and Hermione exited the Hall just in time, as Dumbledore and his three companions came into view.

"Professor Dumbledore," said Lena immediately, plastering a smile on her face, "what brings you down here at this–" she gave him a pointed look, " _time_ of night?"

There was a flicker of recognition in Dumbledore's eyes, before he replied, "Only a most unhappy situation, I'm afraid, Miss Lestrange – a scheduled loss of life."

"Lestrange?" Cornelius Fudge had recoiled upon her hearing her name. Lena turned her gaze to him with mild curiosity. She had never seen the Minister for Magic in real life before. He was even less impressive than his pictures in the newspapers, and was currently looking at her with thinly-veiled suspicion.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, pretending not to notice the hostility in Fudge's manner. "Cornelius, may I introduce our Head Girl, Miss Lena Lestrange?"

Lena walked up to them, and extended a hand to Fudge, still smiling. "Delighted to meet you, Minister."

Fudge gingerly accepted her hand. "Yes, yes, likewise, I'm sure," was his muttered response, not looking up – as she was at least half a head taller than him – to meet her eye.

Dumbledore gestured to the decrepit old man on Fudge's other side. "This is Mr Quimbly, of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures–"

He and Lena exchanged polite nods.

"–And this here is–"

"Walden Macnair," interrupted Lena. "Yes, we have met – a very long time ago, of course."

The former Death Eater eyed her distrustfully, but Lena unwaveringly met his gaze.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds before Dumbledore broke it. "And how goes tonight's patrol, Miss Lestrange?"

"Oh, well, sir," replied Lena, turning back to him. "Very well indeed. There would, after all," she coughed slightly, "be very little reason for students to be breaking curfew –it being exam period and all."

Dumbledore imperceptibly raised an eyebrow. "Of course, _all_ the pupils are undoubtedly hard at work studying, or preparing for an early night."

Lena had spent enough time with Dumbledore this year to read the look on his face – the look that said, ' _Harry's up to something again, isn't he?'_

She gave him a small nod. "Yes, of course."

"Yes, well, we are on something of a schedule, Dumbledore," Fudge cut in. "So we should really be heading down to Hagrid's–"

Knowing she had to delay them longer than this, Lena blurted out the first thing that came into her head: "This is regarding the Hippogriff that injured my cousin, isn't it?"

Fudge looked at her, surprised. Apparently, Lucius Malfoy's many generous _donations_ to the Ministry over the previous twelve years had made the Minister forget his familial connections to some of Azkaban's most famous permanent residents.

"My Uncle Lucius," continued Lena, "has been, I imagine, a key figure in this case against the creature."

Fudge puffed his chest out slightly. "Mr Malfoy," he said, "has acted as I'm sure any parent concerned for their child's safety would."

Lena couldn't resist smirking. "And the Ministry has responded to his complaints _as I'm sure_ any political group would respond to one of their principal donor's demands. The customer is always right, after all."

While Dumbledore's lips twitched in amusement, Fudge's eyes flashed in anger. "I do not like your implication, Miss Lestrange," he said imperiously.

But Lena had decided that if she was going to dip her toes in, she might as well go for a swim while she was at it. "But surely you must find it a little bit embarrassing to be so blatantly in the pocket of all these families with so many..." She chuckled. "Well, _criminal_ connections."

As Fudge began to splutter incoherently, Dumbledore held up a hand and firmly said, "I think that's enough, Miss Lestrange. Now, I am sure your patrol requires you to cover much ground over a comparatively brief amount of time, so–"

"How _dare_ you?" interrupted Fudge, ignoring Dumbledore as he finally regained his voice. "You would accuse me of corruption? Someone like _you_?"

"Cornelius," said Dumbledore sharply.

"No, Albus," snapped Fudge. He pointed at Lena. "You don't think the stories about _her_ haven't made it to the Ministry? Rumours of assaulting other students, of Dark Curses, of–"

"No wonder the Ministry is so incompetent," remarked Lena, "if its employees spend most of their time gossiping about schoolchildren, rather than actually doing their jobs."

Fudge's face went even redder. "You–"

"You're quite an angry little man, aren't you?" said Lena neutrally.

"That's enough, Lena," Dumbledore warned her. Mr Quimbly was watching the back-and-forth with an expression that was a mixture of surprise and disapproval, while Macnair's had transformed from apprehension to intrigue.

"Is it?" retorted Lena, folding her arms. "He's just authorised the murder of an innocent creature whose only crime is being in the same vicinity of my moron of a little cousin."She was surprised by the genuine anger in her voice. She had paid little attention to the case of the Hippogriff but she knew enough to be certain he didn't deserve to be executed. ' _Fucking Malfoys,'_ she thought irritably. But as none of them were there at the moment, Fudge would have to take the brunt of her displeasure. She eyes him icily. "I'd say he had it coming."

"Then perhaps you could voice your frustrations with the Minister's policies in a strongly-worded letter to the _Daily Prophet_ ," suggested Dumbledore, and Lena could have sworn there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "But I am afraid that a sentence has been given for Buckbeak, and these gentlemen are bound by law to carry it out."

Lena glanced down at her wristwatch. It had been a few minutes since the time travelling Harry and Hermione had left the castle. She had done what they asked.

She sighed and moved out of the way of the four men."Of course. By no means would I want to delay you from your murder– sorry, _execution_ ," she sardonically corrected herself. "Have a lovely evening, gentlemen." She nodded at them, taking a moment to exchange a look with Dumbledore that said they would be discussing the time travel business later, and departed from the Entrance Hall.

* * *

Snape still hadn't brought up the Wolfsbane.

Remus paced around his office agitatedly. Nightfall was little more than an hour away, and his impending transformation was heightening the stress he already felt over everything else – in particular, the issue of the _rat_.

It had been a constant plague on his mind over the past two weeks. Was it possible that it had been Peter, not Sirius, who had betrayed them? Had they swapped Secret Keepers without telling him? Had it actually been Sirius who had gone after Peter, rather than the other way round? But why did he kill all those innocent muggles? Had he simply been mad with grief over James and Lily's deaths, and not been in control of his actions?

Or was Remus just unnecessarily obsessing over a single word? Was he truly so desperate to believe Sirius' innocence that he would so willingly believe another friend had committed the same treachery – a friend who was no longer around to defend himself? He almost wished Lena had never said anything.

Lena. Despite his present anxiety, a small smile played on Remus' lips as he thought of her. He hadn't thought it possible, but ever since their duel, his attraction to her had grown even more – and this time, it wasn't because of something messed up.

Graceful was not the first word that would come to mind if Remus was asked to describe Lena, but there had been something so inhumanly perfect about the way she had moved during their duel. She had almost been dancing rather than fighting, but that had done nothing to lessen how threatening she'd been too. The ingenuity of the way she had finally defeated him was also quite entrancing – a spectacular distraction in order to simply disarm.

A longing sigh escaped him, and instantly felt embarrassed. ' _It's pathetic,_ ' he told himself. ' _A man your age pining after a girl only just about to graduate from school – not to mention one who hasn't shown the slightest indication she feels the same way._ '

Well, there had been moments over the past couple of weeks where he'd thought that Lena's eyes had lingered on him in a way that seemed less platonic than usual.

 _'Now you're just being delusional,_ ' a cynical internal voice told him. ' _You're in so deep that you're inventing signals that she's interested.'_

Remus leant against his desk and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples in frustration. He had spent his whole life managing to avoid falling in love, and the one time he slipped up, it had to be with the most _impossible_ woman he'd ever met.

Opening his eyes, he looked at the clock on the wall and frowned. What was taking Snape so long with the Wolfsbane?

He walked around to the other side of his desk and slumped into his chair. At least he'd managed to get most of the younger year levels' exams out of the way before the full moon, and thankfully there would be none tomorrow, so he would have the day to recover.

Thinking about the Third Years' exams that morning, he smiled proudly as he remembered how well they'd all done – especially Harry, the only one to receive full marks.

Remus' eyes widened. Harry – he'd nearly forgotten. He hastily pulled out the Marauder's Map from his desk drawer. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he muttered, tapping it with his wand. At once, the Map began to form.

The Hippogriff that had injured the young Malfoy at the beginning of the year was due to be executed that night – right now, in fact, Remus realised as he glanced back up at the clock. And although Harry no longer had the Map, he most likely had his father's invisibility cloak. And he knew that Harry would want to visit Hagrid before the execution happened. As the Map became fully visible, Remus searched for Harry's name somewhere around Hagrid's hut.

It was Hermione Granger's he found first. She had just left the hut. Next to her, Remus found Harry's name, and next to him, Ron Weasley. And also with him–

Remus felt as though someone had punched him in the chest, and he could no longer breathe. White noise filled his ears. Although he couldn't see his face, he knew it had gone pale.

The name Peter Pettigrew was accompanying Harry and his friends up to the castle.

There was no way it could possibly be true. But the Map never lied.

Unable to move, Remus continued staring at the name of his supposedly long-deceased friend. Yes, he'd recently started to have doubts about who had really betrayed the Potters, but he'd never once imagined that Peter could still be _alive_.

But the Map had not surprised Remus enough that night, it seemed. For another name was fast approaching Harry, Peter and the others.

Sirius Black.

Remus watched, his heart pounding rapidly, as Sirius collided with them and moments later dragged Ron and Pettigrew to the Whomping Willow. They disappeared under it, and their names vanished from the Map.

Remus didn't think. He just grabbed his wand and sprinted out of his office.

* * *

Her patrol had ended, but Lena was still lurking around the Ground floor, unwilling to return to the Slytherin Dungeon yet. She hadn't seen Dumbledore's return to the castle, and was unsure of whether Fudge, Macnair and the other committee member were still with him – otherwise, she'd go speak to him. Nor had she seen anything of Harry and Hermione, which she found worrying.

She knew she could wander the halls of Hogwarts at night and avoid detection, but she also knew she had housemates who were probably waiting in the common room for her return, hopeful she might be able to help them with study.

Sighing, she decided she could probably wait until tomorrow morning to find out just what the hell was going on. Chances were that the house-elves would know about it before dawn.

She was just about to descend the staircase to the Dungeons when she sensed that somebody was coming down the corridor. Not a human someone, however.

"I swear, Peeves," she said tiredly, drawing her wand as she turned to face the poltergeist, "I am _so_ not in the mood."

Back in her First Year, when Lena discovered that Hogwarts had a resident poltergeist, she had looked into potential ways to deter Peeves from bothering her. One of the first useful spells she had found was a curse that could actually cause a Poltergeist severe pain. Not being particularly concerned about hurting anyone back then, young Lena had used it on Peeves the first time he decided to taunt her about her parents. He had pretty much left her alone ever since.

Peeves came to a halt, holding his hands up in a surrender. "I wasn't going to do anything!" he whined.

Lena looked up at the floating creature warily. "Really? So what's that you've got in your pocket?" She pointed to a bulge in his right pants pocket. " _Accio._ "

As something zoomed out of the pocket, Peeves tried to snatch it but was too slow. The object flew straight into Lena's left hand. It was a small bottle of something.

Lena read the label, and glanced back up at Peeves with a raised eyebrow. "So you usually just carry _glue_ around with you for what, emergency parchment repairs?"

Peeves shrugged. "I said _wasn't_ _going to do_ , not–"

"Not haven't done," finished Lena with a sigh. "So what have you done, Peeves?"

The Poltergeist eyed Lena's wand, then her irritated expression. He hesitated, before admitting, "Put glue on the seat of Snape's office chair."

Lena tried, but she couldn't stop an amused snort from escaping her. "I imagine he had a great sense of humour about it," she said drily.

Once again, Peeves shrugged. "Wouldn't know. He hasn't returned to his office yet. I don't think he's even back in the castle."

Lena's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'back in the castle'?"

Peeves did a little loop in the air. "He left in a hurry about an hour ago." He smirked. "But not in as much of a hurry as Professor Loopy was."

"Lupin?" Lena's heart skipped a beat. "You saw Lupin leave the castle?"

"Yep, about an hour ago. Running, he was. Looked like he'd had _quite_ the fright. Then five minutes later, Big-Nose went prowling out too. So I thought to myself, 'Well, Peevsie, it's your lucky night–"

"But Lupin returned, right?" interrupted Lena, tensing. It was a full moon, Remus couldn't be out in the grounds. Especially if Harry and Hermione were still out there.

"Not that I've seen," replied Peeves carelessly. "So, can I have my glue–"

Lena dropped the glue, turned around and sprinted off in the direction of the Entrance Hall, her mind focused only on finding Remus, and more importantly, finding out if he'd taken the Wolfsbane before going out.

Out of the castle and across the grounds, Lena ran faster than she ever had before. Her eyes kept flicking up to the sky, watching for the appearance of the full moon. Would she find Remus before he transformed? ' _He had to take his potion before coming out,'_ she tried to convince herself. ' _He's not an idiot. Surely the worst I'll find is a wolf under the influence of Wolfsbane, and somehow, I'll be able to get him back to his office without being seen._ '

Her gaze was drawn to the Whomping Willow. Somehow, there appeared to be people emerging from beneath it. On any other occasion, her curiosity would have been piqued, but all she wanted to know now was if Remus was one of them. She altered her course, heading straight for the tree.

Lena saw that Harry and Hermione were among the number, as was Snape, who seemed to be – floating? She shook her head slightly. None of this was making sense.

Three figures appeared to be tied together. Lena squinted. One of them was Remus. She didn't waste a moment. "REMUS!" she screamed out, her voice cracking from exertion. His attention snapped to her, and as she approached, she could see his expression was both surprised and relieved.

"Lena," he called out. "It wasn't Sirius," he indicated to a man standing next to Harry, "it was–"

But the presence of convicted serial killer Sirius Black was not a priority for Lena. "I don't care," she cut him off, coming to a stop in front of him. "Remus, did you take your Wolfsbane?"

Remus' eyes widened. "My–"

"Your Wolfsbane!" shouted Lena, panic beginning to overtake her. "Please tell me–"

At that moment, a cloud shifted and the group were bathed in moonlight. Instantly, Remus went rigid.

"No, no," whimpered Lena, tearing at her hair. "You idiot, what have you done?"

"Run," said a voice hoarsely – Lena thought it was Sirius. "Run! All of you, now!"

But Remus was chained to two other people: Ron, and a little man covered in filth who Lena didn't know. She pointed her wand at the chains. " _Diffindo!"_

The chains snapped, and she grabbed Ron and the other man and pulled them away from Remus, who had dropped to a crouch, his limbs warping as he emitted sounds of awful pain.

Lena's chest began to hurt, and for a moment she wildly thought that the Nekrosía inside her had started to act up again. But it wasn't that, she realised. It was seeing Remus suffering like this that was causing a pain in her heart.

There was a terrible snarling noise, and Lena, horrified but unable to look away, watched as Remus' head and body began to lengthen. His shoulders were hunching. Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling into clawed paws. Lena stepped back further, pulling Ron and the small man with her, as the transformation completed.

As the werewolf reared, snapping its long jaws, out of the corner of her eye Lena saw Sirius disappear from Harry's side. In his place was an enormous, bear-like black dog. The thought, ' _He's an Animagus'_ briefly floated across Lena's mind, but there was no time to dwell on it as the dog bounded forwards and tackled the werewolf before it had a chance to launch itself forward into the group of humans watching it. The werewolf threw Sirius off, but the Animagus was persistent, and he threw himself at the werewolf again. They were locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at each other.

Lena's grip on Ron and the other man slacked, as she watched the battle transfixed – so transfixed that she didn't notice when the little man dived forward to take Remus' wand from where he had dropped it. It was only when there was a _bang_ and Ron fell backwards that Lena realised what was happening. She pointed her wand at the man, but Harry beat her to it.

" _Expelliarmus_!" he yelled, and Remus's wand flew high into the air and out of sight. "Stay where you are!"

But it was too late, as this man was apparently also an Animagus. Within a second, he had shrunk down, turned into a rat.

' _The rat in the Order.'_ Lena's eyes widened. He was the one who had betrayed Harry's parents, not Sirius–

A loud yelp of pain distracted Lena from the retreating rat. The werewolf was on top of the dog, which was squirming as he tried to free himself. But the werewolf was heavier, and using its weight to its advantage. As Sirius wriggled, his throat became exposed and the werewolf, seeing its opportunity, bent down to deliver the death blow–

" _Expulso_!"

An explosion hit the ground directly in front of the two canines, the force of which sent the werewolf flying off Sirius. The whimpering dog struggled to his feet, looking around at the rest of the group, confused.

"Sirius, he's gone," Harry told him urgently. "Pettigrew, he transformed." He pointed in the direction that the rat had disappeared.

The werewolf, meanwhile, had landed about twenty feet further back. Slowly, it got to its feet and turned around to face Lena with a murderous look in its eyes, and let out a low, menacing growl.

Lena pointed her wand at it. "I've got this covered," she said evenly. "You go find the rat."

Sirius hesitated, looking between the werewolf and her. After a moment, he made his decision and bounded off after the rat – Pettigrew, Harry had said.

"You two should run as well," Lena told Harry and Hermione.

But Harry shook his head. "I'm not leaving Ron," he said, crouching beside his unconscious friend. They didn't mention Snape, who had collapsed to the ground when Sirius transformed, but was also still unconscious.

Lena nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off the werewolf stalking towards her. "Okay," she replied, and without really thinking about it, slowly began to approach the werewolf.

"What's she doing?" she heard Hermione hiss behind her.

Evidently, the werewolf wondered this too. It paused mid-step, eyeing her suspiciously. She guessed it was used to humans running away from it, not trying to get closer.

Her wand still trained on it, Lena also came to a stop and looked intently at the werewolf. ' _At Remus_ ,' she reminded herself, her eyes drawn to the creature's scars – the ones she was so used to seeing on Remus' face and arms. But that was where the resemblance between the werewolf and Remus ended. As she looked into the monster's eyes, she could not see a single trace of humanity in them.

But this creature _was_ Remus. It was his body. His mind was trapped within its skull. This creature was the one she had first met on the Hogwarts Express nine months ago; who had given her a completely different test to everyone else in their first class just to see how clever she really was; who, after finding out something was wrong with her, had not slept until he'd uncovered what ailed her; who had taught her how to cast a Patronus; and who had held her hand for more than an hour while she wept, simply offering her comfort, not judgement, when she'd most needed it. This creature had been heartbroken when it had thought she was dying, and overjoyed when she'd been saved.

And because Lena loved Remus, she loved this creature.

Her breath hitched. There it was. She could no longer run away from that dangerous word, because she knew it was the absolute truth.

' _I love Remus_.'

Lena took a deep breath as the werewolf resumed its approach, snarling at her. She tightened her grip on her wand.

"Please," she told it softly, "don't make me hurt you."

* * *

Once again, the werewolf came to a stop. He stared at the human in front of him, who was firmly pointing something at him. She was not giving off the slightest indication of turning around and running, like her kind was supposed to do, and it was terribly confusing.

The werewolf didn't have much experience with humans – his infuriating two-legged counterpart usually saw to that –but he did have instincts. And instinct told him that humans were prey, and he was supposed to hunt them down.

But he also knew that prey was supposed to run from its predator, to fear it. So why didn't she? Why did she just stand there, looking at him so calmly and so... What was that other emotion? It wasn't fright, or anger, or excitement, or contentment. What else was there to feel?

It was unsettling. He growled at her, willing her to react how she was supposed to, but she just continued to look at him with those eyes. Eyes that were...

He cocked his head slightly. Begging? Was that right? But if she was begging for her life, than why didn't she show fear? He made a frustrated noise. What was wrong with this human?

He looked past her, at the other, smaller humans. They looked afraid, like they were supposed to. They were prey...

But as he started to stalk towards them, his eyes hungrily fixed on them, the tall female human made a loud noise at him, making him instinctively recoil. He turned his gaze back to her. There was something harder in her stare, a look that said... _Protect_.

Well, that his instincts understood. But then her eyes softened again, and his head began to hurt. He was supposed to attack her. That's what his kind did. But this was not the behaviour of prey. And why were all his hairs standing on end?

His ears flattened against his head. _Threat_. She wasn't afraid because she didn't view him as her predator – which meant that of the two of them, he wasn't the more dangerous. And for the first time in the werewolf's life, he felt _fear_.

Looking at the female human, he let out a whimper. Then he turned tail and fled.

* * *

Lena's jaw dropped when Remus-the-werewolf turned around and ran away.

Ran away from _her_.

"Remus," she whispered, lowering her wand as she watched him bound towards the Forbidden Forest. She didn't know what she'd expected to happen, but that wasn't it. She had seen the look in his eyes before he had fled. He'd been _terrified_ of her.

"What did you do to him?"

It was Hermione who had asked.

Lena looked at her. "I didn't do anything," she responded, more defensively than she'd intended. A pang shot through her. She felt awful. She looked back over at the werewolf as he disappeared into the Forest, and fear gripped her. What if he stumbled onto the centaurs? Or worse, the Acromantula colony? From what Harry had described to her last year, there were more than enough of them to take down a werewolf, and they'd probably be delighted by the unexpected fresh meat.

"I have to go after him," she realised aloud.

"What?" That was Harry. "Why?"

"Because he might get hurt in the Forest."

"Are you insane?" exclaimed Harry." Lena, he's a werewolf, he can take care of himself!"

"But what if he can't?" cried Lena, anguished. "I'm sorry," she began to jog in the direction of the Forest, "I have to go."

"But Lena–"

"Just stay here," she called, "and wait for Sirius to get back." Then she broke into a sprint for the second time that night.

Reaching the Forest, she muttered, " _Lumos,"_ and the end of her wand lit up. Holding it out to illuminate the ground in front of her, she soon found the werewolf's paw prints and hurriedly followed them into the depths. Her worst fears were soon confirmed – he was heading in the direction of the Acromantulas.

"For fuck's sake, Remus," she angrily muttered to herself, "how many more stupid decisions are you going to make tonight?"

After another minute of tracking, a loud growling told Lena that she was closing in on Remus. Climbing over the fallen trunk of a huge tree, she saw him, intently sniffing the ground. When he looked up and saw her, he let out a whine and started backing away, in the direction that led him closer to the Acromantulas.

"Remus, stop," she said to him in a low voice.

But the werewolf turned and started running again.

"Don't go that way!" she cried out, frustrated. " _Ugh_ , I am trying to _help_ , you furry git!"

At that moment, there was a loud rustling from somewhere to her left. A second later, a medium-sized Acromantula burst into view, heading straight for Remus.

"No!" shouted Lena. She aimed her wand at a high, thick branch. " _Diffindo_."

She had timed it with precision. The branch fell with a _crack_ , and narrowly avoiding Remus, landed with a _thud_ on the Acromantula. She quickly ran up to where it lay, still alive and twitching. Pointing her wand at its head, she didn't hesitate.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

The green light shot out of her wand, and the monstrous arachnid was killed instantly. But there was no time to celebrate her victory – another two Acromantulas had leapt out from nowhere.

One came straight at her, and Lena reacted automatically with another Killing Curse, successfully hitting it in the face. The other one, which was bigger than either of the ones Lena had killed, had launched itself at the werewolf, who was desperately trying to fend off its pincers.

Lena was unable to get a clear shot at it, and was unwilling to risk attempting it with Remus so close to the line of fire. She had only seconds to come up with a plan before the Acromantula overpowered him.

She glanced back at the fallen tree trunk she had climbed over before. ' _Should be big enough,_ ' she thought. ' _It's worth a shot, at least._ '

Dropping to the ground, she pointed her wand at the large trunk. Shakily, it rose a couple of feet in the air. Then Lena swung her wand at the Acromantula.

The trunk zoomed towards it – barely missing hitting her head in the process – and slammed into the monster. Both trunk and Acromantula crashed into the trees behind it.

The werewolf gingerly picked himself up, as Lena edged closer to the Acromantula. It didn't appear to be moving–

She felt something right behind her, but she was knocked over as she turned around. Her head hit the ground hard, and her wand fell out of her grasp. Her vision blurry, Lena only just managed to grab her new attacker's pincers before they sunk into her. But she was only able to hold the Acromantula back for a couple of seconds, and the pincers drew nearer–

Then the beast reared back its head and screeched, allowing Lena to wriggle out from underneath it. As it turned its attention away from her, Lena saw what had distracted it: the werewolf had sunk his teeth into one of the legs, and managed to break it.

But the Acromantula still had seven, and were using them to bear down on Remus. In the darkness, Lena scrambled to find her wand, but with no luck. About to wandlessly conjure some light, she realised she didn't have time – once again, the werewolf was about to become spider-food. Without thinking, she grabbed one of the Acromantula's back legs and pulled with all her might. The Acromantula, already unbalanced, toppled over, freeing Remus. Enraged, the Acromantula turned its attention back to Lena, throwing itself at her. She made one last desperate grasp for her wand. Her hand closed around a stick, but one larger and thicker than her wand. But Lena gripped it, and thrust it at the Acromantula just as it was about to rip into her.

She hadn't realised how sharp the end of the stick was. It went straight in and through the Acromantula's head, and the beast fell onto its side, seizing up. Lena pushed herself onto her knees, and found herself right next to the head.

Once again, she didn't hesitate. Still holding the stick, she stabbed it down into the head as forcefully as she could. The Acromantula gave one final shudder, then went still.

Lena let go of the stick, breathing heavily. The back of her head still hurt from her fall, and she would have very much liked to take a moment to rest. But more Acromantulas could have been coming at any minute.

She conjured a blue flame in her hand to illuminate the ground. Spotting her wand a few metres away, she retrieved it. Then she looked around for the werewolf.

He was sitting about ten feet away from her, watching her cautiously. Lena recalled how he had attacked the Acromantula when it had just been about to kill her. He had saved her life. But why?

There was no time to think about it. "Come on," she said to him, gesturing for him to follow her back the way they'd came. "We need to go."

The werewolf stood, looking torn between running off again, or following Lena.

She sighed impatiently. "We haven't got time for this," she snapped, glaring at him. " _Follow._ " It was a command, not a request.

She turned away from him and marched off, not looking back to see if he was following. But after a few seconds, she heard the light footfalls of the canine behind her, and smiled to herself.

She took them back towards the clearing where she used to go to watch the Thestrals, wondering what to do next. He didn't seem to want to attack her anymore, but she doubted he felt the same way about other humans. There was no way she could take him through the castle to lock him up in his office. Would it be safe to keep him in the outskirts of the Forest for the night?

Reaching the clearing, she halted. There were eight Thestrals already standing there, watching her curiously. She stretched out her hand, and a couple of them approached her.

Then they scattered as the werewolf bounded into their midst, moving to the edge of the clearing to survey him apprehensively.

"It's fine," Lena tried to reassure them. "He won't hurt you."

One of the Thestrals – Umbrius, Lena recognised him to be – slowly walked towards Remus, who was looking at him curiously. Reaching the werewolf, Umbrius bent down and sniffed him. Remus returned the favour. The other Thestrals, seeing he apparently wasn't a threat, joined their kin back in the centre of the clearing, each taking their turn to inspect this new creature.

Lena let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Slumping against a tree, she slid down to the ground, closing her eyes. ' _What a night_ ,' she thought exhaustedly. And she still didn't know half of what had gone on. Where had Pettigrew come from? What was underneath the Whomping Willow? Why had Snape been unconscious? And had that been the time travelling Harry and Hermione she had seen back there, or was that yet to happen? Usually, Lena would have been trying to figure it all out in her head, but at the moment, she was too tired and sore.

The feeling of warm breath on her face made her eyes fly open. The werewolf was standing in front of her. Lena groaned. "What do you want now?"

He sat, tilting his head to the side as if he were studying her. Lena did likewise. She still couldn't see any of Remus, any ounce of humanity in his eyes. But nor did she see the same monstrosity she had seen back at the Whomping Willow. And as much as that relieved her, she also found it unnerving. She had never heard of a werewolf holding back from attacking a human before, never mind trying to save one's life.

' _Maybe because no human has tried to save a werewolf's life before,_ ' mused Lena. ' _Is it possible they can understand the concept of a life debt?_ '

Hesitantly, she reached a hand out to the werewolf's muzzle, which he cautiously sniffed. Slowly, she ran her hand up his snout and to just below his ear.

"Remus," murmured Lena, but werewolf made no sign that he recognised the name. She sighed, and withdrew her hand. Closing her eyes again, she leant her head back against the tree trunk, wincing. It still hurt.

There was a rustling noise, then an unexpected weight on her lap. Opening her eyes again, Lena looked down. The werewolf had laid down next to her, and was resting his head in her lap.

Lena raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?" she asked him.

The werewolf glanced up at her, as if he were saying, ' _What_?'

She shook her head, laughing softly. "So much for being a bloodthirsty monster," she muttered, scratching him behind the ear. The werewolf let out a low, throaty sound that was almost a purr, making Lena chuckle again. "You're just an oversized puppy."

Looking up from him, she saw that the Thestrals were watching the curious pair.

"What?" she asked drily. "Never seen a werewolf snuggling up to a human before?"

The Thestrals stared back at her. _'No, obviously_ ,' they seemed to be saying.

Lena snorted. "Yeah," she said quietly. "It's been a weird night for all of us."

* * *

 **So, there you have it, the night of the Shrieking Shack (although Lena never actually makes it to the Shack)! What did you think?**

 **Some responses to reviews:**

 **Laurafxox: I'm glad you liked the duel, and found Maggie and Oliver cute. I always love writing Remus and Lena together, and I also really enjoyed the Chamber of Secrets, so it's nice those are some of your favourite moments. Regarding the Shrieking Shack - I decided I didn't want Lena to be in the Shack just because of how long a scene it is, with so many people already involved, and I didn't think Lena would really have much to add to it. So I brought her in when I thought she could be useful. I hope you didn't mind how this version of events turned out :)**

 **RebeccaCrane01: I love writing young Lena and Voldemort flashbacks - so I'm very happy you like them - but unfortunately there aren't going to be many more. But we're only a book off his return, so who knows what might happen then... (well, I do :D)**

 **Clara: You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that you actually enjoy all the magic theory stuff :) When I'm writing it, all I can think is 'Do people actually care about this stuff, or do they just want to get back to Lena being snarky and cursing people she doesn't like? (or whatever reason it is that people are still reading this after thirty chapters)' And I'm glad you liked the duel and conversations in the last chapter. No, I didn't know there was another story with the same name, but I'm not surprise there is, because it's not exactly a terribly original title. What's the other one about? And a belated Happy New Year to you too! I'm always delighted to see a review from you :)**

 **Littlecosma001: That's awesome there's so much stuff you're excited for (and which I'm excited to write). And I know we didn't see much of Sirius in this chapter, but I promise he and Lena will properly meet at some point.**

 **Mika: It's great you can see the progress Lena has made, she certainly feels quite different to write than she did when I started. I was definitely thinking a lot about that first scene between her and Maggie on the Hogwarts Express in Chapter 2 when I was writing their conversation about motherhood. I'm loving Maggie and Oliver too, I almost could write a spinoff about them. And I wish you a happy 2019 too :)**

 **RyuuFuyuScarlet: Glad you enjoyed your re-read :) Wow, those are some pretty strong feelings on Remus and Lena as a couple. I'll accept the blame, but I won't take the shame :D**

 **A quick note: if I don't respond to a review, it isn't because I didn't like what you said - it's either before all I have to say is 'thank you', which I always trying to in the beginning AN, or because I haven't figured out how to answer something yet. There are a few of you who regularly post very short but complimentary and encouraging reviews which I don't specifically respond to, so I just want to take this opportunity to say I'm very grateful for them, and you guys are awesome :)**

 **Well, thank you all for reading :) I'm hoping the next update won't be too far away, so I hope all is well and good with you until then :)**

 **P.S. I really like reviews. Really like them. Just saying.**


	33. Too Late To Turn Back

**It's a double update! Whoo! A big thank you to all the reviewers of the last chapter, I really appreciated them (some responses, as per usual, are at the end of this one). And as always, welcome to anyone who has recently joined the story, hope you stick around :)**

 **Without further ado, I'll let you get on with your reading...**

* * *

 _Friday 10 June, 1994:_

Remus' eyes fluttered open. He was lying on something hard, and a little bit itchy. Grass.

The next thing he noticed – or rather, felt – was that something soft was covering him. A blanket. Which was good, because the third thing he realised was that he was naked.

Groggily, he pushed himself up so he was sitting, letting the blanket fall down to his lap. Wincing in pain, he glanced down at his arms and torso. There were numerous scratches covering them, as well as many bruises, especially down his left side.

"Rough night?"

His head snapped to his right. Sitting on a log several metres away was Lena, nonchalantly watching him.

The memories of the previous night flooded his brain. Going to the Shrieking Shack, seeing Sirius, finding out the truth of what had happened all those years ago, Lena running towards them as they came out from under the Whomping Willow, then the wave of pain as he began to transform...

"Pettigrew!" gasped Remus, trying to get to his feet. "Is he–"

"He escaped," said Lena, getting off the log and coming over to kneel beside him. "I'm sorry, Remus."

A lump formed in Remus' throat. "And Sirius? What happened–"

"He _was_ caught," explained Lena, "but Harry and Hermione helped him escape – apparently," she half-smiled, "on the back of Buckbeak the Hippogriff. So, he's on the run again."

Remus slumped back to the ground. "Everyone still thinks–"

"He murdered all those people and Pettigrew? Yeah, the Ministry and the wider Wizarding community do. But Dumbledore knows the truth now."

' _So he knows that I spent the year keeping the fact that Sirius and Peter are Animagi a secret from him when we thought Sirius was a mass-murderer trying to hunt down Harry and kill him,_ ' thought Remus despairingly. ' _And combine that with fully transforming last night in the grounds and nearly attacking my students..._ '

But he hadn't attacked them. The werewolf's memories were a little slower to form than his own, and slightly fuzzier, but now Remus started to recall what had happened after he transformed.

He had been fighting with Sirius, about to kill him. Then he'd been thrown off the dog, felt pain as he hit the ground. He had got up, and seen Lena. After that...

Remus looked at her now. She was in her uniform, sans robe. It didn't look like she had changed from last night. Her hair was tangled, pulled up into perhaps the messiest bun he'd ever seen. The bags under her eyes were the most pronounced he'd seen them since she'd started taking the Moramortis. There was a smudge of dirt underneath her left ear, and she was looking back at him with a mixture of concern and inquisitiveness.

He felt his cheeks go slightly pink as remembered the werewolf resting its head on her lap. It had gone to sleep there some time shortly after.

"Did you stay here all night?" he asked her.

Lena nodded. "Dumbledore found us not long after you went to sleep. Luckily, you didn't wake up, so I was able to talk to him. That's when he told me everything that had happened after we left the others at the Whomping Willow." She pointed over to the log where she'd been sitting. "He sent over some clothes for you when you woke up."

Remus saw the folded shirt and pants, and shoes. He noticed something else on top of them.

"He also found your wand," added Lena, seeing what he was looking at.

"And the blanket?" asked Remus, gesturing to it.

"I Transfigured my robe."

Now he was definitely blushing, unable to help wondering whether she had done it before he transformed back, and if not, what exactly she might have seen. "Right. Er, thank you." He looked up. The tall trees were keeping them well in shadow, but there were cracks of sunlight coming through. "What time is it?"

Lena glanced at her watch. "A little before seven," she answered, standing up. "We should probably head up to the castle. I'm sure Dumbledore would like to talk to you, now that you're not... you know." She held her hand out to him.

Remus nodded. "Of course." Keeping one hand on the robe-blanket to cover his nether regions, he took Lena's hand with the other, and she helped pull him to his feet. Adjusting the blanket to make sure it covered his buttocks as well, he walked over to the fresh set of clothes. "So you haven't seen anyone else? Just Dumbledore?" he questioned.

"No," said Lena. "He told me that Harry, Ron and Hermione were spending the night in the hospital wing – they're fine," she added hastily, seeing Remus' look of horror. "Well, I think Ron's leg was broken, but that would have mended by now. Look," she said, turning away from him, "you get dressed, and I'll tell you everything I know."

It was a remarkable tale. A narrow escape from hundreds of Dementors, time travel, and a daring rescue on the back of a Hippogriff. ' _James would be so proud,'_ thought Remus, his heart aching. He recalled the way Harry had refused to allow Sirius and himself execute Peter. _'And so would Lily._ '

Sitting down on the log, he started to put on the shoes. "I'm changed," he called over to Lena, who turned back around.

"So how are you feeling?" she asked, walking over and sitting beside him. "You know, I'm beginning to rethink my whole stance on Wolfsbane."

Remus glanced up at her, frowning. "Why?"

"Well, you took six out of the seven doses, and the werewolf didn't end up attacking me," Lena pointed out. "So it must be doing something right."

"That wasn't the Wolfsbane," said Remus, finishing tying his laces. He sat up and faced Lena. "If anything, I think all the transformations under the influence of Wolfsbane actually made it worse."

"What do you mean?" asked Lena, looking confused.

"I tried to kill Sirius," said Remus. "And I've never attacked him – or James or Peter – in their Animagus forms before. Snapped at them, yes. Maybe even wrestled a little bit. But not kill." He stood up. "Come on, let's go."

Lena followed him. "So what, you think you were _more_ violent than usual last night? But–"

"As soon as I finished transforming, I wanted to kill," explained Remus."It didn't matter what. It was just like you've been saying – the Wolfsbane didn't _remove_ any desire for violence these past nine months, it just suppressed it. So last night, there was an excess of it." He gave Lena a sidelong glance as she fell into step with him. He could see that her mind was whirring, looking for answers.

"Then I knocked you off him," said Lena. "And you got back up–"

"And I wanted to kill you," Remus cut her off quietly. "I wanted to tear you limb from limb."

"But you didn't." Remus could tell she was almost bursting from curiosity. "Why?"

Remus halted, and turned to face her. "Because you weren't afraid," he said simply. "And that _terrified_ the wolf."

"That's all it takes?" said Lena, in disbelief. "You just have to hold your ground, and a werewolf won't attack?"

Remus shook his head. "You don't understand. A werewolf can _smell_ fear. You can't just bluff one." He stared at her, his expression serious. "Lena, you weren't scared. _At all_."

Lena shrugged. "I know."

A small exasperated noise escaped Remus. "Do you not understand," he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, "how completely _insane_ that was?"

Lena's expression became affronted. "Why? I wasn't going to let you hurt me, or the others."

" _There_ ," said Remus quickly, holding up a finger. "There it is. That ridiculous amount of self-confidence. _That's_ what sent the werewolf running. Because the only reason you could be that crazy to so truly believe you would have no problem taking on a werewolf and winning was if it were true. And that meant you were a threat."

Lena crossed her arms. "So what changed?"

"What do you mean?"

They began walking again."Why did the werewolf go from so frightened of me," she said, "to, well..." She trailed off.

Remus kept his eyes looking straight ahead, worried that if he met Lena's gaze he would blush again. "To being so affectionate towards you?" he suggested neutrally.

Lena cleared her throat. "Erm, yeah."

A pang of disappointment hit Remus. She sounded so uncomfortable. It didn't really surprise him, but that didn't mean it wasn't a little upsetting. Shoving the feeling away, he said, "Because you protected him. _Me_ ," he corrected himself. "You protected me, when you had no reason to. And that was incredibly confusing to a beast whose instincts go totally against that. And I suppose," he added thoughtfully, as it was only just occurring to him, "that as a werewolf, I actually have a very limited experience of interacting with humans." He shrugged. "Maybe that means I'm less set in my ways than I thought."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Lena was nodding, but clearly deep in thought. After a short while, she asked him to tell her everything he had learnt the previous night in the Shrieking Shack, in case there was anything Dumbledore had missed. Remus did so as they continued making their way to the castle, stopping by the Whomping Willow to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak.

It was nearly half-past-seven by the time they reached the doors to the Entrance Hall. Lena held them open for him, then followed him in.

"I'm going to go my office," Remus told her as they walked through the Hall. "You should go to your dormitory, have a shower."

Lena arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying I stink?"

Remus' lips twitched. "Well, you've probably smelt better."

"While, of course, you are absolutely _pristine_. No," Lena shook her head. "I'll see you up to your room first."

"But–"

"There you are!" It was Maggie. Upon seeing them, she jogged towards them.

Remus and Lena exchanged a look. What exactly were they supposed to tell her? He couldn't think of a reasonable excuse for why the two of them were entering the castle at this hour in such a dishevelled state.

Maggie, however, didn't look particularly surprised by their appearance, or the fact they were together. But as she came to a stop in front of them, it was clear from the way she was biting her lip that something was wrong.

"Um, Professor," she said. "It's probably best if you try to get to your office as quickly as possible. And, um, the less people that see you–"

"Well, obviously," interrupted Lena, rolling her eyes. "He's hardly going to swagger into the Great Hall looking like this."

"No," replied Maggie, "you don't–" She stopped, then sighed. Looking Remus in the eye, she said, "I'm sorry, sir. But Snape's told everyone."

Remus' heart skipped a beat.

"Told everyone _what_?" hissed Lena, narrowing her eyes.

Maggie took a deep breath. "That you're a werewolf."

Speechless, Remus stared back at her. The only word his mind could form was, ' _Fuck_.'

Lena, on the other hand, retained her voice. "He just _announced_ it to the whole fucking Hall?"

Maggie grimaced. "More like," she made air quotation marks, "'let it slip' to some of the Slytherins. But that was about fifteen minutes ago, so by now–"

"Everybody know," said Remus quietly.

"I'm going to kill him." Lena's voice was very soft, but that didn't lessen its menace one bit. She started forward. "I'm actually going to _fucking_ murder him."

"Oh no you're not," said Maggie, grabbing Lena by the shoulders and holding her back. "You are one month away from graduating, I'm not letting you blow it by murdering that dickhead in the Great Hall, right in front of everybody."

"I don't care," snarled Lena, struggling to get past Maggie. "He's had it coming for years."

"Don't be stupid," Maggie scolded her.

Lena growled, trying to shove Maggie off of her, but to no avail.

"God, you're actually really weak," remarked Maggie.

"Get out of my way!"

"Like, I'm hardly trying at all. Seriously, girl, you need some more protein in your diet."

"Lena," said Remus firmly. "Leave it."

Lena looked back over her shoulder at him. "But Remus–"

"Severus was bound to be angry after what happened last night," Remus pointed out, internally wincing as he remembered how Harry, Ron and Hermione had all simultaneously hit the Potions Master with overly-enthusiastic Disarming Charms.

Lena stepped back from Maggie and turned around. "How can you defend him?" she cried, outraged. "To out you like that!"

"I didn't say he wasn't a git," replied Remus tersely. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But think for a second, Lena. What if you hadn't turned up when you did last night? Harry, Ron, Hermione – they could all have been bitten, or killed."

Lena looked at him with wide eyes. "What are you saying?"

Remus suspected that Dumbledore wouldn't fire him, but he still knew what he had to do. He had to resign. But there was no point in telling Lena that now. She would just argue.

"Go back to your dormitory, Lena," he told her.

She made a frustrated noise. "My cleanliness isn't as important as what Snape's done to you–"

"No," Maggie cut her off. "But you taking your next dose of Moramortis is. Come on." She put her arm around Lena's shoulder, trying to guide her away in the direction of the staircase to the Dungeons.

Lena made a feeble attempt at resistance. "But I–"

"Please, Lena," said Remus earnestly. "You took care of me last night. Now please take care of yourself."

Lena slumped. "Fine," she replied. "But once I'm done–"

"You'll come find me," Remus finished, giving her a small smile. "I know."

He watched the two girls walk away. Then he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath.

' _Come on, Remus_ ,' he told himself. ' _Time do the right thing._ '

* * *

"It's the wrong thing to do!"

"Lena, I endangered the lives of students last night. It's the _only_ correct course of action."

Lena glared at Remus as he continued emptying his desk drawers. He'd already finished packing everything in his bedroom by the time she had arrived at his office.

He had resigned. It made Lena furious. Mostly at Snape, but she was also a little annoyed with Remus too.

"But you didn't hurt anyone," argued Lena, crossing her arms as she leant against the wall furthest away from his desk. "And you've spent a whole year teaching them all vital information. And it's near impossible to find _anyone_ to fill the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, let alone someone who's actually _good_. What if next year they get stuck with another Lockhart? Isn't it just as dangerous for people to leave Hogwarts without a comprehensive, _accurate_ knowledge of how to defend themselves from the Dark Arts?"

"Of course education is important," replied Remus, shutting the desk drawers. "But it doesn't take priority over their safety."

Lena uncrossed her arms and walked over to the desk. "What if you're not as dangerous as you think?" she tried to reason with him. "Surely you proved last night that there's more to the werewolf than just violence."

Pausing from his packing, Remus glanced up at her. "I think what was proved," he said lightly, "was that you are, once again, an exception to a rule."

Lena fought back a blush as there was a swooping feeling in her stomach. Of course she knew she was extraordinary, but that didn't mean she didn't enjoy it when Remus remarked upon it.

"Anyway," continued Remus, returning to his packing, "why are you so bothered by this if you're not going to be here next year either?"

"Because it's discrimination!" said Lena. "Because you deserve this job! Because..." She swallowed. "Because you love it," she finished softly.

Remus paused for a moment, then put the last items away in his trunk. The only things left in the office were the furniture that came with it, and a piece of parchment spread out on the desk. The Marauder's Map, Remus had explained to Lena. A tool he, Sirius and James – and Pettigrew, to a much lesser extent – had created while students.

She looked down at it now, tracing a finger over where her and Remus' names were situated.

' _As if I thought he couldn't be any more attractive,_ ' thought Lena irritably. ' _Then he has to go and reveal he helped create something as impressive as this when he was a teenager._ '

"I'm touched that you care so much."

Lena started, her eyes widening imperceptibly as she turned around to face Remus, who was standing a little behind her. ' _Bloody hell,'_ she internally panicked, ' _I didn't say that out loud, did I?_ '

"I've loved teaching more than I ever expected to," Remus went on, and Lena realised he was talking about the Defence teaching position. ' _Oh, thank fuck_.'

"I accepted the position mostly because of the wage and the Wolfsbane," he continued. "Although the prospect of seeing Harry again after all this time was also something of an incentive. But then I found–"

"That you're good at it," said Lena quietly, taking a step closer to him. "And that it's what you want to do." She smiled at him sadly. "That's the main reason I don't want you to resign, Remus. This," she gestured around the room and to the door that led down to the classroom, "makes you _happy_. And," she took a deep breath, "that's what I want for you. To be happy."

To her surprise, Remus gave her an odd look. "That's..." He appeared to be choosing his words carefully. "That's very sweet of you to say," he finally replied.

Lena frowned. He sounded almost... insincere.

Moving slightly closer, she suspiciously asked, "What are you holding back?"

Remus raised his eyebrows. "I'm not–"

" _Remus_."

He flinched slightly at the severity in her tone. He spread his hands exasperatedly. "Fine. It's sweet of you to say, but... but you're not very good at showing it."

Lena tensed. "I beg your pardon?"

Remus ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just..." He sighed. "I just feel that between the two of us, one of us cares more about the other."

Stung, Lena took a step back. "You think I don't care about you?"

"No," said Remus. "I know you do, in your own way. But–"

"In my own way?" interrupted Lena. "What the hell does–"

"Just listen to me," Remus cut her off. "Remember when you came to see me before you left Hogwarts, when you were dying? I told you that–

"I had sucked you in. Yes, I remember that _charming_ description of how you felt."

"Well, that's what it's like, Lena!" retorted Remus, raising his voice. "You come swanning in, all aloof and mysterious and clever and frankly _astonishing,_ then someone piques your interest, and you give them just a taste of who you are, just enough to prove that you are _sublime_ , and then you're just so fucking _magnetic,_ and they give you _everything_ , but bloody hell, is it hard work to get _anything_ out of you!"

"Seriously?" snapped Lena. "You think that after _everything_ I've told you?"

"I'm not just talking about you telling me your history," Remus shot back. "I'm talking about letting me know what you feel!"

"You mean what I feel towards you?"

"Exactly!" cried Remus. "You repeatedly tell me you care about me, that you consider me a friend, spend hours every week in my company, but somehow, you still manage to be so _fucking_ vague about what you feel!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Lena stared at him disbelievingly. "Last night I chased you – as a fully transformed werewolf, who had just been intending to _kill_ me – into the Forbidden Forest and killed four Acromantulas for you! What else do I have to do to show you I love you?!"

"Well, you could just say it!"

"Fine!" shouted Lena, throwing up her hands. "I love you!"

Remus stared at her, looking more shocked than she'd ever seen him, and she nearly seized up in terror. She had said the words aloud, so now it was real, and it was _terrifying._ But it was too late to turn back now.

After a silence that felt as though it had stretched on for an eternity – while in reality was less than five seconds – Remus whispered hoarsely, "Lena."

And that was all he needed to say. They threw themselves at each other, Lena curling her fists into his shirtfront, Remus' hands firmly gripping her waist. And they kissed.

Remus' lips were dry and a little rough, but Lena found she didn't care. They were _his_ , and the ardour with which they were kissing her more than made up for any shortcomings of their texture.

But as much as Lena was enjoying the friction of their lips, she knew that it wasn't just the kiss – which was definitely _good_ , but not mind-blowingly amazing – that was causing the warm sensation spreading through her chest that was so wonderful, yet making her heart feel like it was going to burst.

It was that for the second time in her life, Lena Lestrange felt truly happy.

Remus _loved_ her.

Uncurling her fists, she pressed her hands against his chest. She felt his slightly protruding ribs, and his heart racing underneath them. Lena was sure hers was beating at the same rate.

They had been kissing for roughly twenty seconds when Remus reluctantly pulled his lips back from Lena's – inducing a small noise of protestation from her – and looked down at her with a face wracked by guilt.

"I am much too old for you," he told her.

"I don't care," said Lena, smiling.

But Remus shook his head, stepping back from her."I'm – I'm impoverished. I have no money, and I have no job again now, and probably won't be able to find one–"

"I don't care."

Clutching his hair, he made a frustrated sound. "I'm a werewolf, a pariah to Wizarding society. I am _reviled,_ Lena."

"And I'm an emotionally unstable narcissist with a proclivity for the Dark Arts who murdered my own grandmother when I was eleven." She cocked her head. "Do _you_ care?"

Dropping his hands back to his sides, Remus gazed at Lena. Then he answered her question by reaching out and pulling her to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her once again, but more fiercely than before.

Matching him in enthusiasm, Lena grabbed the sides of his face and practically attacked his mouth with her own. As their mouths parted further and the tongues became involved, her hands gradually found their way into Remus' hair. Remus' hands, meanwhile, were wandering all over her back and sides.

Then Remus' lips began to move down from the corner of her lips to her jaw, then further down to her neck. Lena let him continue his ministrations there for a while, as she did quite like the sensation; but missing the feeling of them caressing her lips, grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back up. She caught a brief glimpse of his surprise before she reclaimed his mouth for her own.

Apparently, Remus didn't mind the force she had used, because he emitted a low groan of pleasure, which in turn made Lena feel a pulsing in her lower regions.

Without breaking the kiss, Remus moved forward, pushing Lena back until she hit his desk. His hands found her hips, then moved lower down her sides until they reached the back of her stocking-clad thighs. Then, with a grunt, he hoisted her up so she was sitting on the desk. Instinctively, Lena wrapped her legs around his, pulling him as close as she could. Remus' hands, still on her thighs, began to slowly move up underneath her skirt.

' _Fucking hell,_ ' thought Lena. ' _He actually is going to have me on his desk._ '

And she was going to let him.

Remus' tongue was practically down her throat, and his hands almost at her underwear, when the door to his office was flung open.

"Professor Lupin– Oh!"

Remus reared his head back from Lena and practically jumped away from the desk. Lena hastily smoothed down her skirt to make sure everything was covered, and looked to the doorway.

Standing there was Harry, and his expression was a perfect mixture of embarrassment, amusement, and delight.

"Sorry, shall I come back later?" he asked, evidently trying to hold back a smirk.

"No, no," said Remus quickly, although Lena privately wished that he hadn't. "Come in, Harry. I'm glad to see you're all right."

"As am I," Lena chimed in. "Although your timing is less–" She shut her mouth as Remus sent her a warning look. ' _Less than desirable,_ ' she finished silently.

"I just saw Hagrid," said Harry to Remus. "And he said you'd resigned. It's not true, is it?"

"I'm afraid it is," said Remus.

"Why?" said Harry. "The Ministry of Magic don't think you were helping Sirius, do they?"

"No," Lena cut in as Remus opened his mouth to reply. "It's because he's a ridiculous Gryffindor like you, and thinks he's being _noble_."

Remus sent her another dirty look, before turning back to Harry. "Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives." He sighed. "That was the final straw for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard. So he – er – _accidentally_ let it slip that I am a werewolf this morning at breakfast."

"Twat," muttered Lena, moving the Marauder's Map to the side of the desk so she could sit further back.

"You're not leaving just because of that!" said Harry.

Remus smiled wryly. "This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents – they will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you."

"But you didn't," said Harry quickly. He indicated to Lena. "You listened to Lena."

"I ran away from Lena," Remus corrected him.

"Which I'm still a little bit offended by," interjected Lena.

Remus rolled his eyes. "You'll get over it." He addressed Harry again. "The point is, if Lena hadn't been there, I would have attacked you and the others. And as Lena won't be here next year, neither can I."

"But you're the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had!" said Harry. "Don't go!"

"He's made up his mind, Harry," said Lena quietly. "And he won't change it. Believe me, I tried."

Harry gave Lena a suggestive look which seemed to say, ' _Yes, I'm sure you did_.'

' _You cheeky little sod,_ ' thought Lena.

"From what the Headmaster told me this morning," said Remus, interrupting Lena and Harry's silent exchange, "you saved a lot of lives last night, Harry. If I'm proud of anything, it's how much you've learned. Tell me about your Patronus."

"Ooh, yes," said Lena excitedly. "What form does it take?"

Harry looked between them, confused. "How'd you know about that?"

"Dumbledore told me about the Dementors converging on you, Hermione and Sirius, and that they were driven away," explained Lena.

"So who else could it have been who cast it but you?" finished Remus, moving back to the desk and leaning against it next to where Lena was standing. They both gazed at Harry keenly.

"Oh. Well, it's a stag."

Remus grinned. "Like father, like son, then. James' Animagus was a stag. That's why we called him Prongs."

"Yeah, I kind of figured," said Harry, half-smiling.

Remus appeared to remember something. "Speaking of your father," he said, going over to his trunk and pulling something off the top of it, "here – I brought this from the Shrieking Shack last night," he said. "And," he went back to the desk and picked up the Map, holding it out to Harry, "as I am no longer your teacher, I don't feel guilty about giving you this back as well. It's no use to me, and I daresay you, Ron and Hermione will find uses for it."

Harry took the map and grinned. "You told me Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs would've wanted to lure me out of school... you said they'd have thought it was funny."

"And so we would have done," said Remus. "I have no hesitation in saying that James would have been highly disappointed if his son had never found any of the secret passages out of the castle."

"Wow, you all sound like you were such rebels," said Lena teasingly. Then, smirking, she added, "Teenage-Remus sounds like he was pretty hot."

"Lena!" said Remus, embarrassed – but also, Lena could have sworn, pleased.

Before she could tease him any further, there was a knock at the door. Harry hastily stuffed the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket, and Dumbledore entered, not looking at all surprised to see either Lena or Harry there.

"Your carriage is at the gates, Remus," he said.

"Thank you, Headmaster." Remus folded the one robe he'd left out over his arm and picked up the handle on his trunk.

"Well – goodbye, Harry," he said smiling. "It has been a real pleasure teaching you. I feel sure we'll meet again some time."

Getting off the desk, Lena said, "I'll walk you down to the gates."

Remus nodded.

"Goodbye, then, Remus," said Dumbledore soberly. Remus shifted his robe slightly so that he and Dumbledore could shake hands. Then, with a final nod and a swift smile, Remus left the office, followed closely behind by Lena.

* * *

Remus watched Lena out of the corner of his eye as they exited the Entrance Hall. They hadn't said much to each other since leaving his office, but now he noticed that there was a small, pleased smile playing on her lips. It gave him a very pleasant feeling to know that he was the cause of it.

She loved him. It hadn't really registered with him the first time she had said it, but the second time – it had felt as though time was standing still. He had almost dared not believe it. But then he had seen the way she was looking at him. And then they kissed, and Remus honestly couldn't ever remember feeling the way he had then ever before in his life. A moment of true euphoria.

Of course, then his doubts had crept back into his mind. But it hadn't taken long for Lena to dissuade him of those. She had reminded him of his irrevocable truth. He loved her.

Now, he cleared his throat. "Lena?"

"Hmm?"

"I think we should probably talk about what happened back there."

She glanced at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Do you mean when you were going to shag me on your desk?"

Remus returned her gaze. "Is that what you wanted?" He wasn't being flirtatious, but genuinely curious.

"Was my behaviour not indicative of that?"

Personally, Remus was trying his best not to think too much of Lena's ardent behaviour. He was worried that if he did, he might diverge from his path to the gates and take her off to the Forest to have another go at shagging her.

"I certainly found it encouraging," he finally responded.

"I'm glad." There was a pause, then Lena said, "Remus, I'm really sorry about Sirius. I know how much he means to you, and," her expression became upset, "if I had been paying more attention last night, I could have stopped Pettigrew from escaping, and Sirius would be a free man."

If she was expecting Remus to be mad at her, she was mistaken. He shook his head, smiling. "You really have quite the god complex, don't you?"

Lena looked at him, confused. "God complex?"

"You have such an unshakeable belief in your own abilities and intelligence that when you see something go wrong, you always think you could have prevented it," explained Remus. "You think you should be infallible." He gave her a soft smile. "But you're not. You're only human, Lena. A very clever, very talented, very ambitious human. But not a god."

Lena stared down at her feet as they descended a hill. The gates were at its foot. "And this god complex," she eventually said. "You don't think it's a good thing I have one?"

"I probably shouldn't," admitted Remus. "But I suspect it's one of the many reasons I'm in love with you."

Lena's head snapped up to look at him. She flashed him a smile, then looked ahead. But her hand reached out to take his, squeezing it gently.

Remus squeezed it back, and they walked the rest of hill in silence, but holding hands. At last, they reached the gates, and Remus reluctantly let go.

"Where will you go?" asked Lena.

"Back to where I was living before I came here," answered Remus, shrugging. "Trusting it's still inhabitable, of course."

Lena bit her lip. "You know I could–"

"Don't offer me any money," said Remus sharply. He softened when he saw how this affronted Lena. "Don't get me wrong, it's not matter of 'manly pride,' or anything like that at which you would scoff." He put down his trunk and took both her hands in his. "Listen, you have another month before you leave Hogwarts. And I'm not going insult your intelligence by suggesting that you don't know your own mind. We love each other, that much is clear to both of us. But tell me honestly: how long has it been since you properly realised and admitted it to yourself?"

Looking slightly embarrassed, Lena replied, "Since last night."

Remus nodded. He'd been wondering if that were the case. "So you haven't really had much time to think about what you would want our life together to be. Love is all well and good, but I know you well enough to understand that a life where that love dictates all other choices wouldn't be for you. So, take this month where we're apart to consider what it is you want. From me, and for yourself."

"I can't have children," Lena blurted out.

Remus froze, his mind temporarily going blank. He had not be expecting her to bring up anything like that right now.

"It's the Moramortis," she continued. She was watching Remus closely, no doubt looking for his reaction to this news. "One of the side-effects is that it causes infertility. So if children are something you want–"

"No," said Remus quickly, and probably a little too loudly. He had decided long ago that he would never risk the possibility of lycanthropy being genetically passed on to any child. Perhaps if he wasn't a werewolf–

' _But there's no point imagining something I know could never happen,_ ' Remus told himself sternly. No good came of dwelling on the impossible.

"I don't want children," said Remus firmly.

For a moment, Lena continued to scrutinise him, and Remus thought he saw something in her eyes that said she didn't _quite_ believe him. But then the look was gone, and she was smiling. "Well, isn't it good we cleared that up now?"

"Yes," said Remus, "but I still want you to take this month to think about everything. Now, as the night after you leave Hogwarts is a full moon, we can meet again the day after."

Lena looked like she wanted to argue about this, but eventually nodded. "All right. If it's important to you that we do this," she took a deep breath, "then I suppose I can wait thirty days to see you again."

"I'll think about you every day," murmured Remus.

"Good. I'll be very cross if you don't." She glanced over at the Thestral-drawn carriage. "You have to go now."

"I know."

But neither of them moved, staring at each other. Then Lena leant in and kissed him, much more gently than she had in his office. Remus kissed her back, but just as he started to wonder if he could somehow delay his departure further so he could give her another proper snogging, she drew back.

"I love you," she whispered.

Remus smiled. "I love you more."

Lena snorted. "No you don't." She picked up his trunk and thrust it into his arms. "Now," she gave him a push out of the gates, "fuck off."

Laughing, Remus looked back at her as she shut the gates behind him. "Such a hopeless romantic," he teased.

"Oh, Merlin forbid I ever become as sappy as you," she retorted, her eyes sparkling. Walking backwards, she called out to him, "See you in a month–" she grinned, "Moony." And with one final wink, she turned around and started making her way back up to the castle.

Remus gazed after her retreating back, well aware of the puppy-like expression on his face.

' _Now, Remus_ ,' said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Sirius, ' _that is what I call a hell of a woman._ '

Remus smiled to himself. ' _Yes_ ,' he thought. _'Yes she is._ '

And she loved _him_.

* * *

 **So, there you have it: Lena and Remus. It's happening. Exciting stuff (I hope!). What are your thoughts?**

 **Some responses to reviews:**

 **Laurafxox: Gosh, you always say such nice things! I like that you mentioned the connection between Lena and Dumbledore (more of that to come), I really enjoy writing their scenes together. I'm glad you liked how I fitted Lena into the events of that night - I adore the whole scene in the Shack, but it's bloody long, and as you said, we all know what happens very well. And it's good to hear you like the dynamic between Lena and the wolf - I was trying my best to avoid being too cliché.**

 **RyuuFuyuScarlet: I'm glad you loved the last chapter. Regarding Lena teaching Harry's DADA lesson - there'll be something of an answer to that in the next chapter, but what I'll say now is that Harry does have more to learn from Lena :) And as for your review of Chapter 2, I'm guessing you're referring to the line about being Head Girl in 2 years time? Yeah, I remember that when I was writing it, I was wondering if anyone would ever re-read it and pick-up on that, so well done you :)**

 **QuirkyMurderSubject: Hurrah for another fan of magic theory! And double hurrah for thinking that Remus-the-Werewolf and Lena are adorable! I'm afraid I can't comment on your hopes/predictions now, but I'll definitely keep a note of them :)**

 **Guest #1: Good to hear that you find the inner turmoil enjoyable, and not a drag :) I'm glad you liked the Acromantula fight scene, as I'm not quite as confident in writing action as I am for dialogue or interior stuff.**

 **Mika: Happy to hear the Shrieking Shack stuff worked for you :) And I'm delighted that you also like the magical theory (and don't worry, there's plenty more to come :D). In answer to your question - as I don't consider it spoilerish - I'm afraid there's no plan for Lena to become an Animagus. She's good at Transfiguration, but there's not the same natural inclination towards it as there is for some of her other subjects. But that doesn't mean she won't find a way to keep company with the wolf :)**

 **Einklley: Thank you for that dedication (and your bluntness :D)! It's lovely to hear that you think it's something of an original approach, and I'm so pleased that you think I've captured Remus' personality, as that's something I constantly stress about. And obviously, I don't want to spoil anything, but what I'll say - in regards to your hopes for Remus' fate - is that you shouldn't be disappointed :) (Hopefully.)  
**

 **Guest #4: Goodness, binging this story must have been quite a chore! I'm delighted that you've enjoyed the growth in Lena's relationships. Regarding Rolf and Luna - considering there is quite an age gap at present, I'm afraid that if there will be any exploration of that, it won't be for a very long time. But I will assure you that I have no intention of pairing either of them with anyone else.**

 **And now, I'll let you get on with the next chapter (if you haven't already)...**


	34. Moving On

_Thursday 23 June, 1994:_

" _Reducto_!"

The dummy was blasted into smithereens.

"Thank you, Miss Lestrange," said the examiner, Professor Oyawale, noting something down. Lena patiently waited for him to finish. The practical section of her Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWT was almost done, and she was fairly certain she had achieved full marks so far.

"Now," said Professor Oyawale, looking back up at her, "one final task. Please perform for me a Patronus Charm."

Lena nodded. She had been expecting this would be the last question – and the one that could potentially prevent her from achieving a perfect score. She knew that the Patronus she _could_ cast would get her some marks, but she still had never cast a full, corporeal Patronus.

' _Well_ ,' she thought, ' _there's nothing like performing under pressure._ ' She closed her eyes, and started to focus on the last time she had seen Voldemort. But just as she raised her wand to cast the spell, the image in her mind suddenly changed as she remembered her first kiss with Remus.

Before she could stop and think about it, the words, " _Expecto Patronum_!" were out of her mouth. She opened her eyes to see the silver light streaming out of her wand. But, to her astonishment, instead of making the shield it usually did, it began to form a different shape.

Four, long, spindly legs grew down from the cluster of light. A tail sprouted out one end, and a neck from the other. An elongated head grew out from the neck. Lastly, two large bat-like wings extended from its back.

Lena watched, entranced, as the glowing, silver Thestral took flight, circling the Great Hall and drawing the attention of the other examiners and students.

"Excellent work, Miss Lestrange," said Professor Oyawale, his eyes also keenly following her Patronus.

Lena smiled. "I had an excellent teacher."

* * *

 _Friday 8 July, 1994:_

"I'm not supposed to be telling you this," said Dumbledore, "as NEWT results aren't officially out for another week, but you have done rather brilliantly."

Lena arched an eyebrow. " _Outstandingly_ , perhaps?"

"To perfection," replied Dumbledore, "is my understanding."

Lena chuckled."Well, I wouldn't be happy with anything less. But I suspect you didn't ask to see me tonight just to offer your congratulations."

The End-of-the-Year Feast had finished twenty minutes prior – Gryffindor, for the third year running, had won the House Cup, to nobody's surprise – and now the Headmaster and Lena were seated in his office.

"There is something else I wished to discuss with you," agreed Dumbledore. "In fact, I have a proposition."

Lena straightened in her chair, intrigued. "Indeed?"

Dumbledore tapped his fingers on his desk, looking at Lena thoughtfully. At last, he said, "Lena, I would like to offer the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to you."

Well, that was... unexpected. Lena blinked. "You would?"

"I believe you are more than qualified for the position, both in terms of your knowledge and skill in the subject, and in your ability to teach – the results of your housemates' Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWTs prove that, I am led to believe." He leant forward, steepling his fingers. "You would be my first choice for the position."

"The infamously _cursed_ position, you mean," said Lena wryly.

Dumbledore shrugged slightly. "I suspect that if there is anybody who could break the curse," he said, "it would be you."

Lena folded her arms, looking at him suspiciously. "You're not just saying that as a compliment." It was a statement, not a question.

After a short silence, Dumbledore said, "Almost forty years ago, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor of the previous eleven years decided they wanted to pursue other ambitions, and there were many applicants to be their replacement. One of them would have been the obvious candidate if my only concerns were their knowledge and skill. But I believed that this applicant was ethically unsuitable for the position, so I refused to offer it to him."

"Voldemort," said Lena quietly.

"Correct. And ever since then, Hogwarts has been unable to retain a Defence teacher for any longer than a year."

It was Voldemort that had cursed the position. Somehow, that didn't surprise Lena. But the fact that Dumbledore was telling her this in relation to why he believed she might be able to break the curse...

"So you're aware there is a history between Voldemort and myself," she said evenly.

Dumbledore nodded. "It was one of the first things Severus informed me once he turned on the Death Eaters to spy for me – that Voldemort had taken a special interest in the Lestranges' daughter. I found it... _concerning_ , to say the least."

Lena didn't blame him. "He was my teacher," she explained, her voice soft. "He taught me wandless magic, theory, Legilimency and Occlumency."

"And it was strictly a teacher-pupil relationship?" inquired Dumbledore. "Or perhaps, one of a mentor and a protégée?"

A small lump began to form in Lena's throat. Maybe her previous happiest memory had been supplanted by one of Remus, but that didn't mean her feelings towards Voldemort had lessened. She told Dumbledore carefully, "There was... a degree of affection."

"On both sides?"

There was a pause, before Lena replied, "I believe so."

Dumbledore peered at her through his half-moon spectacles as if inspecting her. "And you maintain that affection even now?"

Opening her mouth to respond, a realisation struck Lena. She leant forward, so her elbows were resting on the edge of his desk. "You know," she began, "I just figured out why you didn't push the inquiry into what happened to Lenora Travers any further all those years ago, despite suspecting it was me. You were afraid that if you expelled me, I would be lost to Voldemort." She tilted her head to the side. "It's why you've tolerated the bad things I've done, why you were so willing to help me with my illness – you were afraid that if I went beyond your reach, I would gladly be pulled into the arms of Voldemort. You were trying to keep me – or bring me over – on the side against him."

"Yes," admitted Dumbledore, "but more than that too. Even without Voldemort, I was afraid if that was what you were capable of as an eleven-year-old, what you could become away from the influence of Hogwarts. However, at the same time," he added, "there were encouraging signs coming from you."

"How do you mean?"

"You may have been interested in the Dark Arts," said Dumbledore, "but there was no indication you shared Voldemort's views on blood status – quite the opposite, really."

"You mean my decision to associate with Maggie rather than the children of 'great' pureblood families," guessed Lena.

"Yes, and I was aware that the girl you were suspected of attacking so horrifically held those ideologies. And while it is true that young Tom Riddle was always careful to hide any belief in blood supremacy while at Hogwarts – except from his closest friends – you appeared to be less concerned than he was about concealing that you were anything less than good. You seemed guarded, but not deceitful."

Lena digested all of this. At last, she told him quietly, "I know he is a monster. I know he's evil, and his actions are unforgiveable, and that he is beyond redemption."

"But you still care for him," said Dumbledore simply.

She stared at Dumbledore, and he calmly gazed back. Bewildered by his apparent acceptance of this, she asked, "Doesn't that anger you? That I know full well how wrong it is to love him, yet still do?"

A shadow seemed to pass over Dumbledore's face, but his eyes did not move from hers. Then an almost overwhelming amount of emotion filled them, shocking Lena.

"If I were to condemn you for that," he said softly, "then it would be hypocrisy on my part."

Lena's jaw nearly dropped. The great wizard Albus Dumbledore, champion of the light and all that was good, had once loved someone Dark and terrible? The idea seemed ludicrous – but only at surface level. Once she had considered it for more than a few seconds, it made complete sense. Could you truly defeat something if you didn't understand it completely?

' _Oh_ ,' realised Lena. ' _That's who he's talking about."_

"Grindelwald."

There was an unmistakeable sadness in Dumbledore's smile. "Correct – as you so often are." He appeared to take a moment to collect his thoughts. "You see," he said finally, "for your first six years here at Hogwarts, I watched you as closely as one can from afar. But I made no effort to meet you – for I think I was afraid that I would see more of myself in you than I would have liked."

Lena wasn't offended by this; she understood what Dumbledore meant.

"You will have to forgive me," continued Dumbledore, sounding as though he was trying to keep a great deal of emotion from entering his voice, but struggling, "for not going into great length of the circumstances that led to my meeting him. Even nearly a century later, they are still painful memories that I have seldom discussed. I think I will explain it all to you one day, as you have entrusted me with many of your own. But for now, what I will tell you is that a tragedy occurred shortly after my graduation from Hogwarts – one that meant I had to stay in my home in Godric's Hollow, rather than go travelling the world as I had been intending."

A flash of anger crossed his face, but Lena suspected that it was not directed at whatever the source of his detainment was, but towards himself.

"You must understand," he continued, "that I was very bitter. I was a selfish young man, and I felt as though circumstance had caged me, and I thought I would never be set free." He sighed. "Then _he_ arrived."

He lapsed into silence, staring down at the desk.

After a while, Lena hesitantly said, "I imagine he was very charming."

Dumbledore looked up at her. "The most charming person I had ever met in my life, as well as the cleverest and handsomest," he said, with a small smile. "Combined with my feeling of being trapped and the great boredom that bred, it was all enough for me to not be concerned by the fact he had recently been expelled from Durmstrang. He had come to Godric's Hollow to stay with his great-aunt. We were introduced by her, and that one meeting was all it took for me to know that I had met someone special. And my feelings for him very quickly became more... _intense_. We spent a summer in almost constant communication, sharing and building upon ideas which I thought magnificent then, but regret very much now." He paused as his expression shifted from reminiscing to pained. "Once again, I must be vague when I say what broke us apart – suffice to say there was another great tragedy, and we were responsible for it. Unlike the previous one, which had embittered me, this one opened my eyes and brought me to my senses. I had thought that Gellert and I pushed each other to new heights of brilliance, but in reality, we were dragging each other down to the depths of cruelty. He left immediately after, and I did not set eyes on him again until our duel many, many years later." A tear escaped the corner of his eye. "Nevertheless, I could not let go of my love for him – even after the great many more horrific acts he committed in the name of 'the greater good'. I could despise his attitudes and commit myself to fighting against him, yes. But still I loved him."

Lena watched him wipe the tear away, and something tugged at her heart – sympathy or empathy, she didn't know which.

"For, Lena," he continued, once he had composed himself, "that is the great curse of people such as you and I – just as our greater intellects and brilliance creates the capacity for more enormous mistakes and oversights, our difficulty to truly connect with others makes the attachments we do form more powerful and intense. When we love, we do not do so with uncertainty and inconsistency, but unconditionally and bindingly."

"Everything comes with a price," murmured Lena, her stomach twisting. What did this mean for her relationship with Remus? Yes, she loved Voldemort and him in different ways, but could they coexist? If they could, surely there would be something else she had to sacrifice.

She let go of the tip of her plait with which she had absentmindedly begun playing, and folded her hands in her lap, gazing at Dumbledore. "So, returning to your proposition," she said, "you think that my connection with Voldemort could somehow make me immune to the position's curse."

"Not immune, no," replied Dumbledore. "I confess, I know practically nothing about the curse. But I thought that perhaps while you were in the position, you would be able to investigate it. Perhaps your, as you put it, _connection_ with Voldemort would give you greater insight into it."

Lena considered this for a minute. She couldn't deny there were elements of the position that she found quite appealing. She would be able to continue watching over Harry, all the students would again have a proficient educator in the subject, and investigating such a unique and unexplored curse was an attractive challenge.

But taking up the role of a teacher at Hogwarts imposed many limitations on one's life, and Lena had been looking forward to life no longer dictated by timetables and mainly restricted to one location. Not to mention that she would be taking the job that Remus had loved. That felt cruel – to be living the life he wanted but couldn't have, all the while saying she loved him.

"I'm incredibly flattered by the offer," she said at last, "but I'm afraid I have to decline it." A thought occurred to her. "But may I make a suggestion?"

Dumbledore, who seemed a little disappointed but not wholly surprised by her refusal, nodded. "Of course."

"If you find someone you want, offer it to them on the condition that it would only be for one year. Perhaps if they are intending to leave from the beginning, it might lessen the potential of something nasty befalling them that would force them out."

Dumbledore thought this over for a moment, then smiled. "A wise idea, I think." He looked at Lena curiously. "May I ask if you do have any plans for what you _will_ be doing after graduation?"

Lena smiled as she thought of a certain werewolf. "I've got some idea."

* * *

 _Saturday 9 July, 1994:_

"See ya, Lestrange!"

"Thanks for all the help with Charms homework."

"Good luck for... well, whatever it is you're going to do."

"Bye!"

It was such an odd experience for Lena to have more than two people saying goodbye to her at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. But so much had changed since she'd last been at the platform ten months ago – and for the better.

"So," said Kahn as Lena helped Gemma get her trunk off the train, "how long should we be expecting until you take over the country?"

Lena laughed. "Well, I'd like to have something of a holiday before indulging in any megalomaniacal desires."

"Would this holiday perhaps be with a certain former Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor?" asked Kahn, smirking.

"What can I say? Lockhart's thick as a brick, but he is _fit_."

They all sniggered.

"Well," said Gemma as their mirth faded, "if things don't work out between you and Lupin, you can always come find me." She gave Lena a wink.

Lena smiled at her. "You're sweet, Gemma." She leant forward and kissed the other girl on the cheek. "But you deserve someone much nicer than me."

Gemma blushed slightly.

Lena and Maggie exchanged their final goodbyes with Gemma and Kahn. Just as the others were walking away and Lena and Maggie were preparing to find Rolf and his mother, Lena was suddenly tackled around the midriff. Looking down in shock, she saw a blonde head.

"What are we going to do without you, Lena?" cried Tiffany dramatically, hugging her.

A moment later, they were joined by Eve, Erin and Rebecca.

"Yeah," said Rebecca mournfully, "what if we only get slightly-above-average marks next year?"

All four were looking up at her with expressions of dismay. Maggie had to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

"You all aced your exams this year," Lena reminded them. "Just work hard next year, and I'm sure you'll do it again."

"But we learnt more from you than the rest of our teachers _combined_ ," said Erin.

"You don't just teach us _how_ to do stuff, but _why_ it works," added Eve. "You make everything interesting."

"Well, if you find all the theory so interesting, you'll have the motivation to investigate further by yourselves," said Lena. "And that's a good skill to develop." Then she sighed. "And if you're ever really stuck, I suppose you can write to me."

"We can?" said Tiffany and Erin together, as all their faces brightened.

"Only as a last resort," said Lena quickly. "I don't want to be inundated with letters every week asking me questions you could answer yourselves if you just opened a book. Now, I'm sure all your parents are wondering where you are, so–" She tensed as Tiffany threw her arms around her again.

"We'll miss you," she said, and the other girls nodded.

Lena awkwardly patted her on the head. "Yes, all right. Goodbye."

Tiffany detached herself from Lena, and the four girls disappeared into the crowd.

Maggie snickered. "And so the mother duck bids her brood farewell..."

"There you are!" Wood had suddenly appeared at Maggie's shoulder. "Come on, it's time to meet my parents."

Maggie's face went from smug to panic-stricken in less than a second. "W-what, now?"

"Yes, come on." He grabbed Maggie by the hand, and began to tug her away.

"But my stuff–"

"Don't worry, I'll look after it," said Lena, grinning. "Now, do try to make a good first impression."

Maggie shot her one last panicked look before the crowd had also swallowed her up.

Standing on her tiptoes, Lena looked around the platform, trying to spot Rolf. Although she still couldn't find him, she did see Harry, and called out to him.

Hearing her, Harry made his way over. "Hey," he greeted her, smiling. "How does graduation feel?"

"Like freedom," replied Lena. She noticed an envelope in his hand. "What have you got there?"

"A letter from Sirius," said Harry, lowering his voice. "He and Buckbeak have gone into hiding."

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to properly meet him," said Lena. "It would have been nice to spend some time with one of my relations who's actually a decent human being."

"I can imagine," said Harry. "So, you seeing Lupin tonight?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Lena lightly cuffed him over the head. "None of your business, you little creep." Then she gave in. "As it's a full moon tonight, no, I'm not seeing him until tomorrow." She was unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Harry's expression became more earnest. "I am happy for you, Lena. And for Lupin too."

Lena smiled at him again. "I appreciate that," she said softly. "Now," her tone became more businesslike, "remember you can write to me whenever you need. About anything: schoolwork, how you're feeling, if there's another mystery at Hogwarts you feel is your duty to solve." An idea occurred to her. "Oh, if you want the Dursleys off your back this summer, maybe you should–"

"Let it slip that my godfather is the escaped convicted mass-murderer Sirius Black, and that he wouldn't like it if I wasn't being treated well?" Harry grinned upon seeing Lena's surprise. "What, surprised I thought of it myself? I've been hanging around you for more than a year, I was bound to pick up a thing or two."

* * *

Lena stretched out her legs, enjoying the late evening sunlight. She was sitting on the back-steps of Rolf's grandparents' house. She and Maggie were joining him there for the night for the mini-celebration Newt and Tina were holding for their graduations. Everyone else was inside at the moment, but Lena had needed some fresh air.

Twirling her empty goblet in her hands, she closed her eyes and breathed in and out deeply. She was no longer a Hogwarts student. She was free to do whatever she liked, whenever she liked. The problem was knowing where to start.

She was brought out of her reverie by the sound of squeaking. Opening her eyes, she saw it was Mortimer, coming back from his exploration of the garden. She held out a hand, and the bowtruckle climbed on, excitedly chattering about his discoveries.

The door opened.

"So this is where you snuck off." It was Maggie, and she was holding a bottle of something in one hand, and a small package in the other. "Fancy a refill?"

Lena smiled up at her. "What have you got?"

"Horklump Gin."

Lena held out her goblet and Maggie poured some.

"Mind if I join you a bit longer?" asked Maggie as Lena took a sip.

Lena moved her legs to clear some space on the steps, and Maggie sat down.

"So I was meaning to give you this as a birthday present," said Maggie holding out the package to Lena. "But as we weren't talking then, I decided – once we were good again – that I would give it to you after graduation, as a thank you present for getting me through my OWLs and NEWTs."

Lena blinked, surprised. "Thank you," she said, accepting the package. "You didn't–"

Maggie cut her off. "Look, it's nothing huge. Actually, it's probably a bit shit. I made it last summer–"

"You made it?" repeated Lena, her curiosity roused.

Maggie sighed. "Just open it."

Placing her goblet on the step above, Lena then opened the small rectangular gift. Seeing what it was, she raised an eyebrow. "Is this a cassette tape?" she asked, holding it up.

Nodding, Maggie replied, "It's a mix-tape. All Muggle music, because I know how much you despise every single Wizarding singer or band. I put on a few of the songs I knew you liked, and some others which I suspect you will. I've found your taste is surprisingly... mellow." She pointed at the tape. "I wrote down all the tracks and artists on the inlay."

Lena stared down at the tape. "Maggie, this is... brilliant." She looked up at her friend, grinning, and opened her arms. "Come here, you big softie."

Maggie, looking relieved, leant over and hugged Lena. "You'll have to buy your own device to play it on," she told her, a little guiltily.

"Cheapskate," joked Lena, drawing back from her. "But seriously, I can't wait to listen to it."

"Good, it took a bloody long time to make."

Putting the tape down – where it was keenly inspected by Mortimer – and picking up her goblet, Lena and Maggie sat in a companionable silence for a minute.

"So when do you start the new job?" asked Lena, finally breaking it.

After finishing their NEWTs, Maggie, on the recommendation of Professor Sprout, had applied for a position at a greenhouse in Pembrokeshire that specialised in medicinal Herbology.

"You mean if I get accepted," Maggie pointed out. "I won't find out until Monday. But if I get the job, I start the following Monday."

"Were you going to try to find a place to live in Wales?"

"I guess." Maggie stared down at the bottle. "Oliver and I were going to talk more about it tomorrow night when we have dinner with his family."

Lena's eyes widened. "Wait, are you saying you and Oliver are thinking of getting a place together?"

"God no," yelped Maggie, looking up at Lena. "We are nowhere near that stage yet. It's just part of a larger conversation about, you know, what we want moving forward."

"Yeah," muttered Lena, gazing out into the garden, "I know about _those_." She could feel Maggie watching her, but she didn't say anything. Lena was glad.

The truth was she had no idea what she was going to say to Remus when she saw him tomorrow. They had written to each other a couple of times over the last month, but those letters had been about NEWTs and Sirius, not their relationship.

What did she want from a life with Remus? It had always been her plan to enter the business of dealing in magical objects and artefacts, but that tended to involve a lot of travel and a great deal of danger. It wasn't an ideal line of work for someone wanting a stable relationship. And there would certainly be an amount of illegality involved – how would Remus feel about that?

Was it even the job that Lena wanted most anymore? She wasn't sure – she had changed so much over the past couple of years. There might be other areas of work she hadn't explored yet that might suit her more.

She had spent a month thinking about all of this, and was still no closer to a conclusion than she had been when she'd started off.

She was brought out of her contemplation by Maggie commenting, "It's hard to believe that Rolf will be in Brazil by this time next week."

Like Maggie, Rolf had applied for a job after NEWTs, but as the name 'Scamander' carried a certain weight in Magizoology circles, he'd already been accepted for the position. He would be working in a magical wildlife reserve in the Amazon – one of the most desirable locations for any budding Magizoologist.

"Merlin, I hope he doesn't get himself killed," muttered Lena.

Maggie raised her eyebrows. "You don't think he's up for the job?"

"I have every confidence in his ability to look after creatures," said Lena. "It's ability to look after himself I'm more concerned about."

They chatted for another couple of minutes, until Maggie went back inside to get herself another drink. The door soon opened again, but this time it was Newt.

"Oh, the weather's lovely out here," he remarked.

Lena smiled at him, and patted the spot next to her. "You're welcome to join me."

"Thank you," replied Newt, sitting down. There was a short silence, before he said, "We missed you at Christmas."

Lena bit her lip. "I had a lot going on," she said quietly.

"Yes," said Newt. "Rolf wrote to me when you told him of your illness. He was... well, distressed, to say the least." He looked at Lena curiously. "But you are better now?"

"I'm not cured," explained Lena, "but neither am I dying anymore. So, yes, I'd say I'm better."

Newt nodded slowly. "It was a big year for you, then."

Lena snorted. "Oh, you have no idea."

"Well, perhaps if you are so inclined, you could enlighten me."

She hesitated, then said, "You're aware, I take it, that our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this year was a werewolf?"

"Yes, Rolf told me."

"Well," Lena swallowed, "he and I grew very close over the year. And after he resigned, we became... even closer."

"I see," said Newt quietly.

"The thing is," Lena went on, "I love him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. But I don't know what that entails. And I'm afraid that when I see him tomorrow, we might argue and ruin everything."

"What are you afraid you'll argue about?" inquired Newt.

Lena shrugged. "I don't know, anything – a potential career, at what pace we want things to progress, the best way of living with his condition. I'm just worried that if an argument starts, that I'll–" She stopped, staring down at her lap.

"That you will use it as an excuse to break things off now, rather than the risk of a more painful heartbreak further down the road."

Lena glanced up at him, surprised. "Yes," she admitted. "I – I make a lot of bad decisions. I feel a lot of things I shouldn't. I... I can't go halfway; I'm either all in, or I give nothing." She took a deep breath. "I'm scared, Newt. And if I'm in love, surely I shouldn't be scared?" She gave him reproachful look. "I blame you for all of this, by the way. You're the one who encouraged me to talk to a werewolf and make human connections."

Newt cocked his head. "And you think your life is worse off because of it?"

Lena hesitated, then shook her head. "No. I might never have opened up to Remus, and then we would never have fallen in love–" She noticed Newt was smiling. "What?"

"I think you've answered your own question," he replied softly. "Lena, what is the worst thing that could happen in your life?"

Opening her mouth to reply, Lena paused. For the last seven years, her automatic reply would have been possessing Hecate's Orb again. But now there was something much worse.

"Losing Remus," she whispered."If he died, I–" She clenched her fists. "I don't know what I'd do."

Newt nodded. "With love, must always come the possibility of loss," he said simply. "Tina and I have been married for a very long time, and youth is long, long behind us. But the thought of losing her still causes such unimaginable pain. The idea of those eyes never looking back at me..." He smiled wistfully. "Eyes like fire in water," he murmured.

His expression of such complete adoration, of such overwhelming love made Lena long to see Remus. His light green eyes, his greying temples, his scarred face.

' _I miss him_ ,' she thought, her chest hurting. ' _Fuck, I miss him so much._ '

And then she knew she couldn't wait a minute longer, let alone a day.

"I have to see him," she announced. "I have to go to him now." She stood, glancing up at the sky. "How long do you think until the moon rises?" she asked.

"A little under an hour, I imagine," answered Newt.

Lena plucked Mortimer off her shoulder, and handed him to Newt. "You don't mind looking after him, do you?"

"It will be a pleasure," said Newt, smiling. "Now, go. I'll tell Maggie and Rolf where you've gone."

Lena smiled back. "Thank you, Newt. For everything." Then she quickly made her way to the edge of the garden, went out the gate, and Disapparated.

* * *

After so many months of taking Wolfsbane, it felt strange to Remus to actually be expecting to fully turn into a werewolf. Not that the process of transforming was any less painful under Wolfsbane. There wasn't really anything that could dull the feeling of your entire physiology being warped into something else.

He was preparing to go down into the shack's basement that he had created a couple of years ago to lock himself in during full moons. Beginning to undress, his shirt was half unbuttoned when, to his shock, there was a loud knock on the door. He lived in the middle of nowhere, who the hell could it be? The only people who knew he lived here would also know there was a full moon in less than an hour.

There was more thumping on the door. "Remus? Are you there?"

Remus gaped. There was another knock, and he raced over to the door and pulled it open.

"Lena, what the hell are you–" He was silenced by his visitor pushing past him and striding into the shack.

"So this is where you've been living," she said, looking around the dwelling.

As delightful as the sight of Lena was after an entire month of not seeing her – and she looked particularly good tonight, in her tight black jeans and dark green t-shirt, the bottom of which was tied to the side, exposing part of her midriff – he also wasn't entirely glad. "Lena, it's a full moon, you can't be here!"

She leant against the small table, tilting her head to the side. "Well, it all worked out last time. I'm not too concerned." Her eyes flicked down from his face to his mostly uncovered chest, and she smirked. "Well, _hello_."

Remus, fighting back a blush, tried to argue, "Just because I didn't attack you last time doesn't mean you should risk your safety now." He frowned at her, crossing his arms. "I thought we agreed we'd meet tomorrow."

Lena shrugged. "We did, but I wanted to see you now," she said nonchalantly.

"You are being reckless," snapped Remus.

But Lena just smiled, and made a beckoning motion with her finger. "Come here," she said softly.

Despite knowing it was a bad idea, Remus felt compelled to go over to her. "You have to go," he told her in a low voice. "Now."

"I'm not going anywhere," murmured Lena, slipping her arms around his neck and giving him a feather-light kiss on his cheek. "I came here to let you know what I want, and I'm not leaving until you know," she whispered in his ear, before kissing it too.

Remus tried to shake his head. "It can wait until tomorrow," he tried to protest, but was interrupted by his own moan as Lena gently bit his earlobe. She lightly tugged on it, before releasing it.

"It really can't," she breathed, one of her hands sliding down from his neck to his chest. One of her fingers began to trace a scar. "You see," she continued, keeping her eyes on his, "what I want in this relationship – for me, and from you – is _you_." She moved her lips up closer to his. "And if there is any impediment to that, any problem, any conflict – do you know what I'll do to it?"

Remus' head was beginning to feel exceptionally light. "What?" he whispered.

She smiled. Not a sweet smile, nor a happy one. No, it was the predatory smile, the one that said she was about to get what she wanted. And it made Remus shiver in both fear and arousal.

"I will destroy it," she whispered. "Annihilate it. I don't care if it is a matter of circumstance, a decision one of us has to make, or a person. If it stands in the way of us being together – of being _happy_ together – I will wipe it off the face of this Earth." She took her hand off his chest and cupped his cheek. "I will _make_ whatever we want work. Do you understand?"

Remus stared back at her. "Yes," he replied hoarsely.

"Good," she said quietly. "Now, I'm all in." She arched an eyebrow. "Are you?"

"Yes," repeated Remus without a moment's hesitation.

Their lips, which had been so close, met with a fervour. Remus encircled her waist with his arms, pressing up against her body as firmly as he could. As Lena ran the tip of her tongue along the underneath of his, Remus' hands enthusiastically ran over her sides, back, bottom, and anything else he could reach. Eventually, as she was doing something to the roof of his mouth that was eliciting all sorts of noises from Remus that he wasn't aware he could make, one of his hands became tangled in Lena's hair, and he accidently undid the bun in which it had all been gathered.

This made Lena temporarily pull back, wincing. "Ow."

"Sorry," said Remus immediately.

"It's fine," said Lena, pulling out the hair-tie and pin that had been keeping it all in place, and putting them on the table behind her. She shook her hair out properly. "Now, where were we?"

They resumed their embrace, lips, tongues and teeth clashing as both sets of hands freely roamed over each others' bodies. But as Remus tried to lift Lena onto the table, she drew back again.

"You know, if you're going to ravish me, you could at least have the decency to do it on your bed, rather than a table."

It was an extremely desirable proposition but, Remus remembered, the full moon was imminent. "Lena, we can't," he insisted, despite being incredibly aware of the tightness in his pants. "The moon rises in less than forty minutes."

Lena snorted. "Remus, darling," she said, undoing the last couple of buttons of his shirt, "I'm delighted you have such self-confidence, but I highly doubt you'd last for more than a quarter of that time."

Harsh, maybe, but true. Remus chewed on his lip, staring down at Lena. "Are you sure you want to? Tonight?"

Lena took his hands. "I told you," she said quietly. "I know what I want."

Then how in the world could Remus possibly say no? He smiled at her. "Well, in that case," he began walking backwards, leading her towards the shack's other room, where his bed was, "do you, Lena Lestrange, consent to me taking you to bed and giving you the best–" he paused for a second, thinking, "–five, if I'm being generous to myself, minutes of your life?"

"Why, Remus Lupin," replied Lena, grinning, "I damn well consent to letting you try."

So try he did.

* * *

 **And I'll leave it to your imaginations to decide how he tried :)**

 **So, there you have it: the end of the _PoA_ section of _To Be Human._ And blimey, was it a long one! I just want to reiterate my huge appreciation for everyone who's been reading the story, it really does mean a lot to me. I particularly love hearing people's thoughts and ideas, I find them super encouraging :)**

 **I'll be honest: I don't love this chapter as a whole. There are so many other scenes I could add, conversations I could extend, moments I could definitely write better. But I'd never finish anything if I waited to publish until I was 100% happy with it, so I hope what there is, you find adequate. If not, please don't be afraid to say it (as long as its constructive). It doesn't do anyone good to be content with mediocrity.**

 **It's going to be a slightly longer waiting period until I get the next chapter - the first of the _GoF_ section - up, but I promise it will be before the end of February. This chapter was sort of the conclusion of the first section or book of _To Be Human_ , so I'm going to need a bit of time to polish the plan for the next. **

**Oh, and well done to everyone who guessed 'Thestral' for Lena's Patronus. Hope you all think it's appropriate for her character!**

 **So until the next time, cheers! Have a great next few weeks :)**


	35. Cracks in the Wall

**And we're back! The _Goblet of Fire_ section begins!  
**

 **A massive thank you to everyone who reviewed after the last update, they were so lovely to read :) (And as always, I have some responses in the AN at the end of the chapter.)**

 **Without further ado, here is the first chapter in Lena's Post-Hogwarts life; hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _Ginny's body lay in front of the statue of Salazar Slytherin. Lena ran across the Chamber of Secrets and knelt beside the girl. Desperately, she felt for a pulse, but there wasn't one to be found._

 _"You're too late. She's already gone."_

 _Lena looked behind her. Riddle was standing there, watching her. He appeared solid, fully-formed._

 _Her throat starting to constrict, Lena wildly shook her head. "No," she said frantically, "that's not right. Harry and I save her. You don't win. You're destroyed."_

 _Riddle laughed coldly. "Yet here I am." He held his hand out to her._

 _Slowly, Lena reached out and touched it. Flesh, bone and blood – it was all there. She attempted to draw her hand back, but Riddle snatched it and hoisted her to her feet, pulling her closer to him._

 _"I'm back," he whispered, his red eyes boring into hers. "Like you've always wanted."_

 _Lena's mouth had become very dry, but she managed to croak, "I didn't want_ you _."_

 _Instead of looking offended or disbelieving, Riddle tilted his head to the side, smiling. "No," he agreed, and suddenly the sixteen-year-old morphed into his older self. "You wanted_ me _."_

 _For a moment, Lena couldn't speak. She couldn't move. All she could do was stare at his face, that inhuman but once-comforting face. She had so longed to see it again. Longed, yet also grown to dread it._

 _Steeling herself, Lena found her voice again. "I_ did _want you. But not anymore."_

 _Voldemort's expression changed to angry in an instant. Dropping her hand, he hissed, "Is that so?"_

 _Lena felt a pang in her chest, but pushed it away. His pride and affection towards her had once meant everything, but it was different now. She had other people who cared about her, loved her. Valeriya, Maggie, Rolf, Harry and, of course, Remus. Her Remus._

 _She nodded, not breaking Voldemort's gaze. "I don't need you now."_

 _Voldemort continued to stare at her, his eyes venomous. Then, quite suddenly, he smiled. "Well," he said softly, "if that's what you think..." He pointed behind her, and Lena quickly turned around._

 _And she was a child once more, no older than five. Ginny and the statue of Slytherin had disappeared, replaced by the entrance hall of the Lestrange house. And someone was coming down the hallway._

 _Lena's eyes darted around the room, searching for Voldemort, but he had gone. Panic took a hold of her._

 _Her mother walked into the entrance hall, her wand pointed at her daughter. Lena's hands scrambled for her own, but she didn't have it. Hurriedly walking backwards, away from Bellatrix, Lena raised her hands, attempting to use wandless magic to repel the woman, but it didn't work. She was defenceless. Reaching the front door, she turned around and tried to open it, but it was locked._

 _"_ Crucio. _"_

 _Pain overwhelmed Lena. She fell to the ground, screaming and writhing. She felt as though her insides were being twisted and pulled apart, that she was being burned alive. But it wasn't quite enough to drown out the sound of her mother's laughter._

 _And nobody was coming to help. Not her friends, not Dumbledore._

 _'_ Remus, _' she thought desperately. '_ Remus, where are you?'

 _But he didn't come. Why would he? He didn't know her. He was barely even aware of her existence. There was only one person in the world who cared enough about Lena to stop Bellatrix from doing this to her._

 _"Voldemort!" screamed Lena. "Voldemort, please!"_

 _A second later, the pain was gone, and Lena was back in the Chamber, whimpering and trembling on the ground. Then a gentle hand stroked her back._

 _"Shh, it's all right," murmured Voldemort. "She's gone now."_

 _Still shivering, Lena sat herself upright, noticing that she was once again her adult self. Voldemort was sitting next to her, reassuringly rubbing her shoulder, and watching her concernedly._

 _"Voldemort," she said quietly._

 _He smiled at her. "I'm here."_

 _Lena found herself throwing her arms around his neck, and hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm sorry I said I didn't need you."_

 _Returning the embrace, he replied, "And I'm sorry that I had to make you remember. I never wanted to cause you pain. But you needed to remember." He started to twist a lock of her hair around his finger. "Because we need each other."_

 _Lena cupped his cheek with her hand, gazing at him. Opening her mouth to agree with him, she was stopped by the sound of someone approaching from behind her. She turned around, and upon seeing who it was, froze._

 _Harry was standing there. In one hand, he was holding a basilisk fang. The other was clamped over his chest, but it was doing little to stop the blood pouring out of the wound there._

 _"Harry!" cried Lena, staggering to her feet. But when she tried to go to him, Voldemort grabbed her by the waist, holding her back._

 _"Lena," croaked Harry, dropping the fang and falling to his knees. "Lena, help me."_

 _She tried to wrench Voldemort's hands off her, but he would not release her._

 _"Let me go," she begged Voldemort. "Harry needs me–"_

 _Voldemort yanked her back so she was pressed up against him. "He needs to die," he whispered harshly in her ear. "He must."_

 _Struggling to break free, she told Voldemort, "No, I can't let that happen, I can't!"_

 _He spun her around, and gripped the sides of her face. "Then," he said, "you have to make a choice."_

 _Lena tried to shake her head, but Voldemort's hold on her face prevented her from doing so. "It doesn't have to be like that," she tried to tell him._

 _But Voldemort snapped, "Potter, or me. You can't have both. So choose."_

 _The boy she cared for as a brother, or the man she loved as a father. "I can't," whispered Lena, an excruciating pain building inside of her._

 _And suddenly, black veins were running down her arms and over her hands. A noise like a heartbeat began to pound in her head. A black matter, halfway between liquid and gas, began to escape her hands, and enveloped Voldemort, who finally relinquished his grip on her._

 _Then the black matter flew back inside her, revealing Voldemort lying dead on the ground. Just like Irina._

 _"No," gasped Lena, staggering backwards. She ran into something on the ground, almost tripping over it. She looked down._

 _It was Harry. Dead. Not from the Basilisk fang wound but, like Voldemort, from the black matter._

 _From the Orb. It had killed both of them._

 _She had killed them._

 _Tuesday 12 July, 1994:_

Lena's eyes flew open as she took in a sharp breath. She jolted upright, her body drench in sweat. Her chest and stomach hurt, and for a moment she thought she might vomit.

There was a rustling sound beside her, startling Lena. The room was nearly pitch black, but just as she was about to make some light to see, she realised what the source of the noise was.

Remus. Turning in his sleep.

Letting out a long breath, the nauseous feeling passed, and Lena shifted so she was sitting on the edge of the bed. Conjuring the tiniest of flames – and making sure her body blocked its light from shining on Remus – she used it to momentarily illuminate the clock on the bedside table.

3:07am. Lena sighed, snuffing out the flame. She had only fallen asleep less than three hours ago, but she knew she would be getting no more rest.

Being careful not to wake Remus, she searched the bedroom for some underwear and a lightweight jumper. Putting them on, she exited the room and made her way down the second-floor corridor of the East Wing of the Lestrange house.

Remus had moved in the previous day. They had decided the day after the last full moon that there wasn't any point in Remus staying in the shack when Lena had a huge house all to herself – and making love to each other was much easier when you lived under the same roof. And after their first time together, Lena had decided she would like the experience to be as frequent as possible. But this had been their first night actually sleeping together in the same bed. And Lena couldn't help but wonder if that had something to do with the nightmare.

She came to an abrupt stop. She hadn't really been paying attention to where she was going, but now she was standing outside her childhood bedroom. Taking a deep breath in, she opened the door and made a gesture at the ceiling which lit the lamp that hung from it.

As the room became illuminated, Lena leant against the doorframe, her hand subconsciously tracing the black mark on her chest.

Voldemort _and_ Hecate's Orb. Both had haunted her dreams for so many years, but she couldn't recall an occasion before when they'd appeared together. Not even after she'd seen both of them in the Mirror of Erised.

After Lena had started taking Moramortis, she had tried to convince herself that the Orb would no longer play a part in her life. And telling Remus that she wouldn't allow anything to come between them had also been a way of trying to reassure herself that even if she couldn't completely let go of her feelings for Voldemort, she would – like Dumbledore had with Grindelwald – not put that lingering affection above her desire to do the right thing. But it seemed that her subconscious remained unconvinced.

Lena slowly walked around the bedroom. She and Remus hadn't even discussed the option of them using it as their shared bedroom. Her childhood lessons with Voldemort cast too great a shadow. Instead, they had selected a guest bedroom on the other side of the house.

She sighed. Sex with Remus was one thing. Sleeping next to him, however, was another. Being asleep was being at her most vulnerable – her Occlumency shielding her from anything on the outside, but trapping her inside her mind with her worst fears. And because her mind was so organised, her memories so vivid and accurate, nightmares felt so much more real. It also meant she could recall them very clearly after she woke up.

' _You need to find a distraction,_ ' Lena told herself. ' _Do something else that requires all your focus._ ' She glanced around the bedroom. ' _And you're not going to find it in here._ '

Nodding to herself, Lena went back over to the doorway. She took one last look around the room, then waved a hand, and it was thrust into darkness once more.

* * *

The room was still quite dark when Remus stirred. Opening his eyes just a crack, he reached out for Lena. When he found her side of the bed quite empty, they opened further as he frowned. His hand scrabbled around his bedside table for his wand. Finding it, he muttered, " _Lumos._ " Grabbing his wristwatch off the table too, he checked the time. It was only half-past-six.

" _Nox,_ " mumbled Remus, putting the wand and watch back on the table and sitting up. He felt slightly disappointed. He knew Lena liked to get up early, but he had still hoped that after their first entire night together, he would get to wake up beside her.

Filled with the urge to see her, he got up and put on pyjama pants and a t-shirt. Leaving the bedroom, he decided to go down to the kitchen in the hope that she would be eating breakfast there. But when he got to the kitchen, it was empty.

It took nearly another twenty minutes to find her. She was in the first-floor study, sitting cross-legged on the ground, various components of what Remus guessed to be a radio spread out in front of her. Mortimer the bowtruckle – to whom Remus had only been introduced to for the first time yesterday – was perched on her shoulder, engrossed in whatever Lena was trying to do.

"There you are," said Remus, and Lena glanced back over her shoulder at him. "I've been searching the entire house for you."

"Sorry," said Lena, turning her attention back to the radio. "I didn't think you'd be up for another – what's the time now?"

"Ten-to-seven," replied Remus . He sat behind her, spreading his legs out so she was between them. Not enjoying the close proximity, Mortimer scurried down Lena's arm and hopped onto the floor. "How long have you been up?"

"Erm, three, nearly four hours," answered Lena distractedly, screwing something together.

"What?" Remus raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep," said Lena simply.

Remus frowned. She was acting unusually distant, compared to the last few days. Gently placing his hands on her shoulders, he was surprised when she tensed.

"Lena, is something wrong?" he asked, removing his hands.

She shook her head. "No, I'm just trying to concentrate, that's all."

Remus shuffled to the side, so he could see her face properly. "What are you working on?" he said, watching her closely.

She didn't look up at him as she responded, "It's the radio from my car. I've been trying to make some alterations so it can pick up the WWN as well as Muggle airwaves." She picked up her wand. "But it's not quite as simple as I thought it might be."

He watched her put Charms on various components. After a short while, he asked, "And was there a particular reason you had to do it this morning?"

Lena shook her head, still not looking at him. "I just wanted something to do. And now I've started this, I'd like to finish it."

"So you're not intending to do anything else until you've completed this?"

"No."

"Not even give me a 'good morning' kiss?"

Finally, Lena tore her eyes away from the half-finished radio. She stared at him for a few seconds, her expression unreadable. Then she said, "I'm not sure I'm familiar with the concept." She cocked her head. "Perhaps you could introduce me to it."

Remus grinned. There was the coy, flirtatious Lena he'd gotten used to over the last few days. "Well, first you come over here..." He reached over and hooked his hands under her knees. Then he pulled her towards him, and up onto his lap. "Then," he continued, wrapping his arms around her, "you bring your lips," he started to close the distance between their mouths, "to mine..."

His lips found hers, softly caressing them. But just as he was opening his mouth to deepen the kiss, Lena drew her head back.

"Thank you for the demonstration," she said, smirking as she got off his lap. "Now I know for tomorrow mor– mmphh!"

She was cut off by Remus launching forward and capturing her lips again, this time with increased fervour. As he slid his tongue into her mouth, he leant forward more, gently pushing Lena down until she was lying on her back, and he was astride her.

Momentarily pausing the kiss, he whispered to her, "You know, I was rather hoping I would wake up next to you in bed so we could be doing this on a more comfortable surface."

Smiling as she threaded her hands through his hair, Lena breathed, "Well, I shall endeavour not to disappoint you tomorrow morning."

* * *

But she did. And the two mornings following that one. When Remus asked Lena why she felt so compelled to leave their bed the moment she woke up, she just gave him a vague response about liking to start her day with activity, not just lounging around. And as her insomnia became increasingly apparent to him, and he suggested that she see a Healer about it, she shut him down and barely spoke to him for the rest of the morning.

Living with Lena, Remus was starting to discover, was a whole other issue to loving her, and possibly even more complicated. She completely rejected the idea of set mealtimes, had no compunctions about leaving the house in the early hours of the morning without leaving a note to say where she'd gone, and could spend several hours working intently on some project that required no urgent attention and become irritated by the slightest interruption – even if that interruption was Remus begging Lena to please come eat some breakfast before the morning had become afternoon.

On the fifth morning of waking up to find Lena absent from their bed, Remus wasn't at all surprised. He decided to make his way straight to the kitchen rather than trying to find Lena first. He was surprised, however, when he heard voices coming from the kitchen. Glad he'd gotten properly dressed rather than just putting on pyjamas, he hesitantly entered the kitchen to find Lena talking to a much shorter woman. She had cork-screw curly hair, and looked as though she couldn't have been much more than fifty.

"Remus," greeted Lena, walking over to him and pecking him on the cheek. "I'm so glad you're awake." She gestured to the other woman, who was looking at Remus with a decidedly unfriendly expression. "This is Valeriya Dolohov, my aunt."

Remus swallowed, a nervous feeling instantaneously filling him. He had heard a great deal about Valeriya from Lena, and not all of it was stuff that he would consider positive. On the other hand, he knew there were very few people Lena respected more.

Fixing a smile on his face, he walked up to Valeriya and extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he told her. "Lena said she wasn't expecting you back from Hungary for another few days."

"I closed the deal sooner than expected," said Valeriya, shaking his hand once before dropping it as though it was something distasteful. "I got back just after midnight. Obviously, I wanted to see my niece at the earliest convenient time." She unashamedly looked him up and down. "And you." She frowned. "You're not what I expected. From my experience, the people that Lena tends to get gooey-eyed over are–"

"Valeriya," snapped Lena. "Can you _not_?"

Her aunt crossed her arms with a "Hmmph", but said nothing else, continuing to glare at Remus.

Remus did his best to hold in a sigh. He had thought the woman who had raised Lena would be more tolerant, but apparently she wasn't a fan of werewolves. Deciding it would be best if he left the kitchen, he began to say, "Well, I'll just let you finish your conversation and come back in–"

"Actually," Valeriya cut him off, "it's you I need to talk to."

"Me?" Remus looked to Lena, but she was watching him with a neutral expression, so he shifted his gaze back to Valeriya. "For any particular reason?"

"Yes," replied Valeriya shortly. She turned to Lena. "Now, why don't you go get the milk you said you needed to buy while Remus and I have a chat."

To Remus' dismay, Lena shrugged and simply said, "All right."

"But–"

"I'll be back soon," Lena assured him, patting him on the shoulder and quickly kissing him. "You'll be fine."

Remus watched Lena go with a rising sense of panic. What if things got heated? What was he supposed to do?

"Sit." Valeriya was already sitting on one stool, and was gesturing for Remus to sit on the other.

Remus took a deep breath. ' _Lena loves you,_ ' he reminded himself. ' _You love her. And both of you will fight to the death to stop anyone from trying to part you from each other. Just make it clear to Valeriya that your relationship is nonnegotiable._ '

He sat. "I can understand," he began calmly, "that you might have your misgivings about my relationship with Lena–"

"I do," said Valeriya bluntly.

Remus nodded patiently. "Look, I'm not naive. I know nobody wants their beloved relative to be with a werewolf. But I promise–"

"Why would I give a damn about that?"

Remus stared at her. "You're not concerned about my lycanthropy?" he asked after a short pause.

Valeriya snorted. "Of course not. What, you think I don't trust my niece to be sensible about full moons and such?"

"Well, no–"

"Or that I give a damn about how _society_ views people with your condition?" she said scathingly. "You think I'm that shallow?"

"I–" Remus rubbed his neck awkwardly. "Of course not."

"Yes you did," said Valeriya. "And now that I'm telling you it's not, you're starting to assume that it's because I think you're too old for her."

Remus blinked. The thought had crossed his mind immediately before she voiced it. "Well, if that's not your concern–"

"I don't care that you were once her teacher. I don't think that you're taking advantage of her for her money. I don't believe you have any intention of ever hurting her in any way."

"Then what," said Remus exasperatedly, "are your _misgivings_?"

Valeriya's expression became very serious. "The fact that she _is_ in love with you."

It was a confusing complaint, to say the least. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow," said Remus.

Valeriya sighed, and appeared to suddenly age about ten years. "Lena is completely and utterly in love with you," she said, "and that doesn't just concern me – it _terrifies_ me."

Remus was still lost. "Why?" He frowned. "Don't you want her to be happy?"

Valeriya studied him for a moment, before shaking her head. "You understand very little about Lena – you realise that, don't you?"

Remus bristled. "You think I don't understand the woman I love?"

"I'm sure you understand how certain aspects of her childhood have helped create the person she is today," said Valeriya – rather dismissively, Remus thought. "But I can't believe that after knowing her for such a short time that you fully comprehend the depths to which her neurosises extend."

"Lena's not neurotic," argued Remus, crossing his arms. "She's just... a little unstable ."

"With respect, Remus," said Valeriya flatly, "you've known her for less than a year. I've known her since she was six. I've watched her grow up."

A harsh bark of laughter escaped Remus. "Yeah," he said sarcastically, "and you were always such a _wonderful_ influence on her."

Valeriya's eyes narrowed at him. "Excuse me?"

Recalling a story that Lena had told him, Remus said to her, "Are you going to tell that when you took Lena to a deal with a man you knew would betray you and forced her to watch him die, that was for the benefit of her mental health?"

"Yes."

This wiped the bitter smile off Remus' face. "What?"

Valeriya leant forward slightly. "I took Lena with me that day," she told him slowly, "because at that point, she still didn't understand the gravity of taking a life. In her eyes, there was nothing wrong with murder. Now," she touched her chest, "I am the first to admit that I am no paragon of virtue. But Lena, when I first met her, had virtually no understanding of morality. It took five years of me exposing her to the full extent of depravity of which humanity – Wizard and Muggle alike – was capable, and the consequences of that depravity for her to learn that inflicting cruelty for the indulgence of curiosity, not to mention _for fun,_ was wrong. I had to teach her about wars, genocides, systematic inequality and abuse for her to finally start feeling _empathy_."

Remus' nails were digging into his palms so hard that they were starting to tear the skin, but he barely noticed. His stomach was unpleasantly twisting.

"She wasn't _evil_ ," continued Valeriya. "She wasn't bigoted. She was a very angry child who'd suffered terribly at the hands of her mother, and felt abandoned by the only person who had ever showed her any kindness for the first six years of her life."

"That _kindness_ ," said Remus resentfully, "allowed him to take advantage of a vulnerable child."

Valeriya raised an eyebrow. "You don't believe Voldemort genuinely cared for Lena?"

"Oh, I think he did. But where do you think that complete lack of morality as a child came from?" he asked pointedly.

There was a short silence as Valeriya regarded him with an odd look. "Remus," she said at last, "why do you think Voldemort started teaching Lena Occlumency in the first place?"

"What?" This threw Remus. "I – because of her potential, I suppose."

"Potential for what?"

"To be a great witch," replied Remus, as if it were obvious.

But Valeriya shook her head. "Voldemort started instructing Lena in Occlumency," she explained, "because of her potential to become a full-blown psychopath, and he wanted to prevent that. He did it to keep her _sane_."

Remus felt as though someone had just dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over him. "W-what?" he stuttered.

Valeriya sighed. "When I told you that Lena was an angry child, that was an understatement. You see, a child instinctively understands that its parents are supposed to love it. As soon as Lena developed basic emotional literacy, she knew that her father didn't care about her, and that her mother outright hated her. Can you even begin to imagine what that did to her psyche?"

Remus recalled what Lena had told him when they spoken in his bedroom at Hogwarts last Christmas day.

 _"I asked him to teach me to kill her."_

 _"What?"_

 _"The night he first offered to give me lessons. I asked Voldemort if he could teach me how to hurt my mother back. He laughed, and said he could teach me to kill her."_

 _"You were four years old."_

 _"I was a very angry four-year-old."_

"She wanted to kill Bellatrix," he muttered.

Valeriya nodded slowly. "And if she'd been given the opportunity, she would have done it," she said. Her expression became very serious. "Now, try imagining feeling that much anger, that much hatred, that much distress when you're only four years old, your brain so undeveloped. How long before that drives you to insanity?"

Remus chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "But how," he said, "is Occlumency supposed to stop that from happening?"

"It orders Lena's mind," explained Valeriya. "It compartmentalises things – memories, emotions, desires. It stops everything from merging together as one overwhelming sensation that can only be satisfied by giving in to her urge to cause destruction – violent, chaotic destruction."

 _"Have you ever seen her lose control?"_

 _"Excuse me?"_

 _"Have you ever witnessed Lestrange truly lose control of her temper? Because I have. And believe me, Lupin – hearing about it is not the same thing as seeing it with your own eyes."_

Valeriya's voice brought Remus out of his recollection of his conversation with Snape. "If Voldemort hadn't started teaching Lena when he did," she was saying quietly, "she would be a monster beyond recognition. He cared too much about her to let that be her fate. The point is," she went on, more loudly, "that Occlumency is still the only protection Lena has from losing grip on her sanity. Are you starting to see why her love for you is concerning me?"

Remus ran a hand through his hair, his mind still mostly focused on the revelation about the origin of Lena's Occlumency lessons. "Not really, no," he said distractedly.

Valeriya rubbed her face in frustration. "Merlin have mercy on me," she muttered. Taking a deep breath, she told Remus, "Lena wrote to me after the two of you decided you were going to pursue a relationship together. She said that you knew all the bad things she's done, and that you still accepted and loved her. She told me you made her happier than anything else had in her life, and that she knew you were the one – the _only_ one – she would ever love." Her voice suddenly became much colder. "So tell me, Remus – just what the fuck do you think is going to happen if you get yourself killed?"

Remus stared at her, stunned. "I'm sorry?"

"You and I both know Voldemort isn't dead," said Valeriya. "He's going to return, probably sooner rather than later. When that war comes, are you going to stay on the sidelines?"

"Voldemort killed two of my best friends," snapped Remus, "and ruined the life of another. And even if he hadn't, his ideologies are still _despicable_ – it would be wrong _not_ to fight him."

"Which brings me back to my original question," said Valeriya. "What do you think Lena will do if you die?"

Remus' throat became very dry. Lena had been willing to sacrifice her own life to punish the people who had hurt Maggie. If he _died_ –

"I imagine," he replied quietly, "that she'd want revenge."

Valeriya snorted. "And I'm sure she'd get it," she said, waving a hand as if it was a matter of no importance. "What I mean is, what do you think the loss of you would do to Lena, considering her psyche is already so precariously balanced?"

Hairs began to stand up on the back of Remus' neck. "You think that grief might make her lose control permanently," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Valeriya looked down at her lap for a few seconds. "I love Lena," she said finally, looking back up at him. "More than anything else in the world. But I would rather–" her voice cracked slightly, and Remus could have sworn that there was a tear in her eye, "–that she live her life without such love, such happiness, if it meant there was no risk of her losing _herself._ " She let out a long, shaky breath. " _That_ ," she finished, "is what terrifies me."

Remus didn't blame her. He wouldn't be surprised if the next time he encountered a boggart, it no longer took the form of a full moon.

* * *

Remus didn't tell Lena what he and Valeriya had discussed. According to the older woman, Lena wasn't aware of the real reason why Voldemort had started teaching her Occlumency. So when she asked Remus what Valeriya had said to him, he had lied and told her that her aunt had just given him the usual spiel of a protective parent coming face-to-face with the object of their child's desire. Lena hadn't questioned this, nor did she appear to notice any change in Remus' behaviour.

His mind was constantly occupied by – and agonising over – Valeriya's warning. The problem was, there wasn't anything he could really do about it. It was too late to try to break things off with her for her own benefit – she knew how much he loved her, and would never let him go. And he couldn't even entertain the notion of hurting her so badly that she'd want to leave him – the very thought of it made him sick. No, he'd just have to learn to live with the constant fear that he might one day be the cause of Lena losing complete control over her emotions, and becoming the monster she tried so hard not to be.

In spite of this newfound anxiety, Remus didn't distance himself from Lena at all. If anything, he found himself constantly craving her companionship, wanting to be as physically close to her any opportunity she would allow it. Those chances, however, were much rarer than Remus would have liked.

Lena, he was learning, required practically constant mental stimulation. The speed with which she read through books was only rivalled in its remarkability by the sheer amount of content she retained from them. She learned skills that people trained for months to perfect in matters of hours. The moment she completed an activity, she would immediately move on to the next – otherwise she would become bored, and a bored Lena could very quickly become an unpleasant one.

About a week after Valeriya's visit, Remus was eating lunch in the kitchen when there was a tapping sound at the window. Looking around, he saw an owl pecking on the glass. He quickly went over to the window and opened it. The owl, with a ruffle of its feathers, hopped inside and presented an envelope to Remus, who took it.

"Thank you," he muttered, reading the front. It was addressed to Lena.

The owl made a small hoot in response, but made no indication of leaving. Instead, it looked around the kitchen hopefully. Remus found the tin of owl treats Lena kept in the corner of the kitchen bench, and offered one to the owl, who eagerly accepted it. But even after it had eaten it, the owl remained.

It occurred to Remus that it was probably waiting for a response from Lena to take back to the sender.

"All right," he told the owl, "I'll go give it to her now. Just wait here."

The owl hooted again, but this time with the intonation of, ' _Well, duh_ ', and Remus headed off to the hall that Lena had converted into a garage for her car, knowing that she was working on something in there.

When he reached it, he found Lena leaning over the open bonnet of her car – which she had informed him, when he first saw it, was a Ford Cortina Mark III, although that meant absolutely nothing to Remus. To him, its only distinguishing feature was that it was dark green.

Her hair was up in a bun, and she was wearing a grey singlet and dark jeans. Her wand was between her teeth as she wielded a spanner, seemingly try to open something. Her expression was one of intense concentration.

Remus leant against the doorframe, smiling. There was just something so innately attractive to him about the whole picture.

But reluctant as he was to disturb it, there was an owl waiting for him back in the kitchen. So he called out to her, "Lena, love, do you have a moment?"

Upon hearing her name, Lena turned to look at him, taking the wand out of her mouth. "Sure," she replied. "What's up?"

Relieved she wasn't in an irritable mood, Remus ventured to ask, "What are you working on?"

Gesturing to what he guessed was the engine, Lena answered, "I'm trying to figure out if there's a safe, relatively permanent way I can modify this engine to be run by magic. I was doing some reading, and it turns out petrol's not great for the environment. So I'm looking for an alternative – one that's hopefully also a little less expensive."

Remus nodded. "Sounds great."

Lena grinned. "You really don't have any idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"No," admitted Remus, "but I'm sure you're doing it marvellously."

She threw her head back and laughed, and Remus felt a swooping sensation in his stomach. It was these moments, where she was just so _wonderful_ , that made the frustrating ones so worthwhile.

"Well," said Lena, her eyes still sparking from her mirth, "I'm sure it wasn't just curiosity about my latest project that brought you here." Leaving the spanner on the worktable nearest to car, she approached him. "What else can I do for you?"

"Firstly," said Remus, "I'd just like you to know that I'm incredibly aroused by you right now–"

"You're welcome."

"–and secondly," he held out the letter to her, "this just came for you, and the feathery deliverer is waiting in the kitchen for your reply."

"Huh," said Lena, taking the envelope and inspecting the address, "handwriting looks vaguely familiar..." She tore it open and unfolded the letter inside. "It's from Markellos."

"Who?"

"A client and friend of Valeriya's," explained Lena, reading the letter with great interest. "I've known him since I was six. Almost got killed by his three-headed dog."

Remus' eyebrows flew up. "What?"

"Story for another time," murmured Lena, engrossed in the message. Remus decided to wait until she'd finished before asking her any more questions.

When she was done, she finally looked back up at Remus. "He says he has a job for me," she told him.

"What sort of job?" asked Remus, frowning.

Lena shrugged. "He doesn't exactly say. Apparently, he'd rather explain it in person."

"And where would that be?"

"He lives on Mykonos."

"Greece?"

"Yeah." Lena bit her lip. "He wants an answer on whether I'm interested straight away. Time is of the essence, he says. "

"And are you?" inquired Remus. "Interested, I mean."

"Of course," replied Lena immediately. "He's... well, he's an interesting man."

Worried, Remus began to ask, "When you say _interesting_ –"

"He's a decent man," Lena assured him. "Quite knowledgeable about the Dark Arts, yes, but as Valeriya's acquaintances go, he's definitely one of the better."

Not completely comforted by this, Remus said, "But it wouldn't be out of the question to suspect there may be an element of criminality to this job, right?"

"There's certainly a possibility," admitted Lena. "But just because something might be _illegal_ doesn't mean it has to be completely _immoral_."

Remus sighed, folding his arms. "Look," he said, "if you want to take the job, then–"

"Come with me."

He stared at Lena, who was looking at him imploringly. "Come with you?" he repeated.

She took a step closer to him, putting her arms around his neck. "You've told me you've never been outside of Britain before. Well, now's your chance to see some more of the world. We'll go see Markellos, learn what the job is, and maybe, if it's not as bad as you think, we could work together." She smiled playfully. "I'm sure whatever it is, I could use a man of your expertise."

Remus considered this. "And what if you like the job, but I don't?"

She shrugged. "You could use the time I'm working to do a bit of sightseeing." Letting go of his neck, she took his hands. "Please, Remus," she said softly, "I need to do something else other than sit at home, tinkering. But I'd much rather go with you than without."

The way Lena's eyes gazed into his made Remus' doubts melt away. "All right," he whispered, and Lena beamed. "You can tell your friend Markellos that the both of us are on our way."

* * *

They – and Mortimer – left the morning after the next, departing from the Lestrange Estate in Lena's car at what Remus dubbed an 'ungodly' hour. The plan was to drive to Dover, take a ferry over to Calais, and then continue driving to the house in Switzerland. Then the next morning, they would take a Portkey from Lustenberger's to Mykon's Grove.

Before they departed, Lena sent letters off to Valeriya, Maggie and Harry, telling them she was going to be out of England for at least the next couple of weeks. Hopefully, there would be no urgent matters that required her attention. She'd also put some new protective enchantments around the boundaries of the estate, including a piece of blood magic that she thought was quite clever – if she did say so herself.

"It's disappeared," remarked Remus as they drove beyond the boundaries. "I can't see a thing now."

Lena glanced back. It was as if the whole estate had disappeared, replaced by more of the surrounding Yorkshire moorland. "Good," she said. "Then all the protection works."

Remus looked at her, smiling wryly. "Did you really doubt it would?"

"Not really," conceded Lena. She gestured to the console. "Can you put the tape in the player?"

Remus picked up Maggie's mix-tape, taking it out of the case. "How'd you come so familiar with Muggle music in the first place?" he asked, putting it in the slot.

"Just by hanging out with Maggie over the last couple of summers," answered Lena. "She took Rolf and me to a record store a few times, and we listened to a lot of different stuff there."

The first song, Jimi Hendrix's _All Along the Watchtower_ , began to play. As Lena hummed along, Remus inspected the case's inlay.

"A couple of names sound familiar," he commented, "but I can't say I really know any of these songs – apart from The Beatles, of course."

"Most of them aren't particularly new," said Lena. "Did your mother not play a lot of Muggle music while you were growing up?"

"She did," said Remus, "but she preferred older folk music – mainly Celtic stuff. The Beatles were the exception." He smiled fondly. "I remember one summer when James, Sirius and Peter came to stay with us for a few nights, and Mum put on some of their records. James and Sirius became obsessed. They were delighted Mum said the four of us reminded her of them."

"Let me guess," interjected Lena, grinning, "Sirius and James were Lennon and McCartney."

"Oh, naturally," said Remus. "Charming, brilliant, popular – and a proper double-act."

"Poor Ringo," Lena went on, "must be lumped with Pettigrew. And you," she glanced at Remus, "of course, are most definitely George."

"The quiet one, yes," said Remus drily.

"The sexiest one," Lena corrected him with a wink. "At least, that's what the smartest and most interesting people think."

Remus laughed. "Incredible. You can't even pay me a compliment without flattering yourself too," he teased.

"Isn't false modesty just lying?"

He chuckled again, and Lena smiled affectionately. But the talk of his fellow Marauders had brought up a question she'd been pondering for some time.

Unable to hold back her curiosity any longer, she hesitantly said, "Remus, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Lena tapped the steering wheel with her fingers nervously, then asked, "Did you and Sirius ever... were you ever... well, you know?"

It appeared to take Remus a few seconds to comprehend what she was saying, and when he did, his eyes widened. " _What_?" He shook his head vigorously. "No, no. Why would you think that?"

"Well," explained Lena, "I don't know much about male friendships, but when you talk about James, I feel like that's what was between the two of you – a strong, devoted friendship. And when you talk about James and Sirius together, you make it sound like they were brothers. But when you just talk about Sirius..." She paused before continuing, "There's a different sort of intensity. Like it was maybe more than a platonic bond."

"I–" Remus stopped himself, looking a little uncomfortable.

There was a silence as Lena waited for him to continue.

At last, he spoke again. "When we were at school," he began, "Sirius had a certain quality about him that was quite similar to your own, er," he searched for the right word, " _magnetism_. He was extremely good looking and charismatic, and if he paid special attention to you, it made you feel, well, special. So, I suppose, regarding my feelings towards him, there was an element of attraction. But not to the degree that I ever wanted to be _more_ than friends with him."

Lena took all of this in for a few reflective seconds. Then she asked, "So you never shagged him?"

Remus let out a strangled noise. " _No_ , Lena , I did not."

"Or snogged?" This query was met by silence, so Lena risked a quick peek at his face. When she saw his blush, she smirked. "Well, your silence speaks volumes."

"It was just a stupid game of Truth or Dare in Fifth Year," protested Remus. There was a pause before he added, "And when we drank a little too much at James and Lily's wedding reception."

Doing her best to keep a straight face, she told Remus, "Knowing what Sirius looked like back then – Harry showed me a photo from the wedding – all I can say to you is: nice one." She took one hand off the steering wheel and held it up for a high-five.

"Lena!" Remus sounded appalled.

"What? He was _gorgeous_."

"He's your _cousin_."

"That's never stopped anyone in my family before."

Remus considered this for a moment, then accepted the high-five.

For about half a minute, they listened to the music in silence. Then Remus asked, "Lena, are you sure you're okay to return to the house?"

Lena's throat constricted slightly, and her grip of the wheel tightened.

When she didn't reply, Remus began to say, "Because if it's just too much, I'm sure we can find a hotel somewhere–"

"No," said Lena firmly. "No, I'll be fine." She swallowed. "I– I need to go back."

Remus frowned. "You don't have to prove yourself to anyone. It was a traumatic experience–"

"Don't say 'traumatic'," interrupted Lena, a little more harshly than she'd intended. "That makes it sound like I was the victim, not the... the perpetrator." She took a deep breath in, then reached over to pat Remus' leg. "I appreciate the concern, darling," she told him. "I do. But you have to let me deal with all my shit in my own way, okay?"

Taking her hand and squeezing it, Remus replied softly, "As long as you understand that you don't have to do it alone." He raised her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "You can tell me anything," he murmured. "I'll love you no matter what."

Lena pursed her lips. She knew Remus believed what he was saying, but how could it be true? The nightmares she'd been having ever since they spent their first whole night together surely proved that there were parts of her, hidden deep down, that could never be worthy of such love. And she could never tell him that.

She took her eyes off the road for a brief moment, to look into his. "I know," she lied. And just before she look back at the road, she saw Remus smile, and there was an ache in her heart as she realised he believed her.

* * *

It was as if time had stood still inside the house that Lena had called home for five-and-a-half years. Nothing had really changed, except the absence of coats and cloaks hanging on the stand in the entrance. Most of Irina's possessions had remained, so very few ornaments were missing. As Valeriya still often used the house if she had business in the area, it was relatively clean, with only a thin layer of dust in the odd place.

Lena was standing in the living room, mere feet away from where she had killed Irina. She noticed, to her surprise, that Valeriya had not mended the cracks in the wall and ceiling from that day.

Over and over again, the memory – a combination of her own, and the one she'd seen from Valeriya's perspective – played through her head. She could still remember the anger she had felt in that moment, enraged that Irina was refusing to listen to her. And she remembered the sheer _power_ with which Hecate's Orb had filled her. She had felt invulnerable, she had felt like a _god_ –

She didn't know long she'd been standing there before she finally tore herself away. She headed upstairs to the bedroom she and Remus were going to use. Remus was inside, having partially unpacked their things. His attention, however, was now focused on her cassette player, with which he appeared to be rewinding a tape.

"What are you doing?" asked Lena. "We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow, you should be getting ready for bed."

Remus glanced up at her. "There was just one song I wanted to listen to again." The tape having reached the spot he wanted, he let the music start to play.

Lena immediately recognised the opening riff of piano and guitar. She tilted her head. " _Will You Love Me Tomorrow_?" she said, arching an eyebrow.

Remus smiled at her as the lead singer of The Shirelles began to sing, " _Tonight you're mine, completely..."_

"I just can't seem to get it out of my head," he said. He stood up and held his hands out to Lena. "Care to dance?"

Lena blinked. "I've never danced in my entire life," she told him bluntly.

Remus walked over to her. "Then maybe it's time to learn," he suggested quietly, taking her hands and gently pulling her over to the largest empty space in the bedroom.

Biting her lip, Lena nodded. "Okay," she whispered, as the words, " _Can I believe the magic of your sigh? Will you still love me tomorrow?_ " floated out of the speakers.

Remus placed her hands on his shoulders, and rested his own on her waist. "We'll just start with the simplest thing," he murmured. "Moving in time to the music."

He began to sway slightly from side to side, and Lena did her best to copy the motion.

 _"Tonight with words unspoken,  
You say that I'm the only one.  
But will my heart be broken,  
When the night meets the morning sun?"_

"And now," instructed Remus gently, "we begin to move our feet."

They started to move around the room. It wasn't particularly graceful or elegant, but they did keep to the beat of the music.

When Lena became comfortable enough to look up from their feet, she gazed up into Remus' eyes which were looking at her just as intently, and she felt an almost overwhelming sensation of love, fear and guilt.

But Remus appeared to only sense one of these emotions. Smiling slightly, he lowered his head, and Lena quickly brought her lips up to his. As they kissed, they continued to sway in time to the music.

 _"So tell me now and I won't ask again,  
Will you still love me tomorrow?  
Will you still love me tomorrow?  
Will you still love me tomorrow?"_

* * *

 **So, that was Chapter 35 - what did you think? Are you interested in the direction the story is heading? Any new predictions?  
**

 **Some responses to reviews:**

 **Laurafxox: I agree that the farewells were all a bit rushed. I was just worried that if I spent as much time as I liked on them that it would drag down the pace of the whole chapter. I'm glad you liked the conversation between Lena and Dumbledore; I could have (and almost did) write a version of it that was nearly twice as long. Regarding Maggie and Rolf - I'll be honest, their roles are going to be significantly reduced moving forward, but you will see them again at some points (probably Maggie more than Rolf). And of course Remus and Lena will be the focus of the story moving forward :) I'm delighted that you're so happy they're finally together, and it's always a pleasure to see there's a review from you :)**

 **RyuuFuyuScarlet: Glad you noticed the extra chapter, I imagine it would have been pretty confusing to read this one without having read it :) It was always my plan for Harry to interrupt Lena and Remus' 'moment of passion', but you certainly did cross my mind when I was posting the chapter :D And I genuinely enjoy reading reviews and replying to them, so you're very welcome :)**

 **Iris Quincy Rosewood: I love a long review, so I assure you I read all of yours, and absolutely don't want you to stop reading this story :) It's wonderful that you find Lena and Remus' relationship both unique and adorable, because I've tried so hard to make it those things. And yes, that is Katie McGrath on the cover, but to be completely honest with you, she's not really an accurate depiction of Lena, who's taller, gaunter and without Katie's curves. I was just trying to put a cover together quickly, and she was the first pale-skinned, dark-haired woman with a somewhat angular face that came to mind. Anyhoo, thank you so much for your extremely kind review, it was wonderful to hear from a lurker :)**

 **Clementsc1992: I'm excited that you're excited :D It's nice to hear you think their personalities work well together, because I wanted Lena and Remus' attraction to each other to be based principally on their personalities, rather than their physical appearances.**

 **Mika: Goodness, you're lovely! And much too kind :) Regarding what GoF holds for this story, I hope this chapter didn't disappoint you :)**

 **Justmeesh33: I was very happy to see a review from you again. I'm glad you like their dynamic. Yeah, it's a bit hard for me to accept Remus with anyone else after spending so much time writing this story. I'd definitely find it weird reading the RemusxTonks stuff in _HBP_ and _DH_ now. I understand what you're saying about Sirius being on the run. However, I imagined that directly after _PoA_ the Auror department would be keeping a close eye on Remus, so it wouldn't be a great idea for him and Sirius to be in the same place. Do you think that makes sense?  
**

 **I don't know if anyone's interested, but I thought I might as well put up the track listing for the mix-tape Maggie gave Lena (since I'd figured it all out):**

 _ **All Along the Watchtower**_ **\- Jimi Hendrix**

 _ **Rocket Man** **(I Think It's Going To Be A Long, Long Time)**_ **\- Elton John**

 _ **Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood**_ **\- Nina Simone**

 _ **Help!**_ **\- The Beatles**

 _ **Dreams**_ **\- The Cranberries**

 _ **Too Late to Turn Back Now**_ **\- Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose**

 _ **Will You Love Me Tomorrow**_ **\- The Shirelles**

 _ **The Passenger**_ **\- Siouxsie and the Banshees**

 _ **Vienna**_ **\- Billy Joel  
**

 _ **London Calling**_ **\- The Clash**

 _ **You Don't Own Me**_ **\- Lesley Gore**

 _ **Landslide**_ **\- Fleetwood Mac**

 _ **You're My World**_ **\- Cilla Black**

 _ **Sympathy for the Devil**_ **\- The Rolling Stones  
**

 _ **Under the Pressure**_ **\- Queen & David Bowie**

 _ **God Only Knows**_ **\- The Beach Boys**

 **Any thoughts on Lena's taste in music? :D Anyway, the next update shouldn't be too far away. So until then, cheers!**


	36. The Medallion of Circe

**Hello lovely readers! Chapter 36 is here :)**

 **Thank you to all who reviewed the previous chapter (some responses to them in the AN at the end, as usual), I really enjoyed reading them.**

 **Just a quick note - there are a couple of instances in this chapter of lines of dialogue not in English. Now, unlike many of you, I'm not talented enough to speak more than one language, so I have to cheat and use Google Translate, which I know will not always be reliable. So please pardon any mistakes I make in that area.**

 **So without further ado, please read on to find out what happens in this next instalment of _To Be Human..._**

* * *

 _Monday 25 July, 1994:_

In the twelve years since Lena had first visited Mykon's Grove, the Wizarding town had barely changed. There were still thirty or so white buildings all cramped together, their coats of paint a mixture of fresh and peeling. Plants from the magical world remained the most common inhabitants in the front gardens, and the fountain in the town's centre continued to run.

Unlike twelve years ago, however, Lena had actually dressed for the Greek summer heat, and in her short-sleeved cotton dress that stopped just above her knees and sunglasses that blocked out the glare, was able to enjoy the pleasant weather slightly more. But not by much – she would always have a natural inclination to a cooler climate, and preferably one that was a little more overcast.

Remus was also having trouble adapting to the warmest, sunniest weather he'd ever experienced in his life. Lena watched him wipe the sweat from his brow as they walked down the town's main street.

"I told you to just wear a t-shirt," she said with a slight smile.

Pushing up the long sleeves of his button-up shirt further, Remus replied regretfully, "I didn't think it was appropriate attire for a business meeting."

Lena shook her head, amused. "This isn't an ordinary sort of business."

They continued all the way to the edge of the town, where Markellos' house stood. Lena opened the front gate and led Remus to the door which, she noted with mild interest, had had its knocker replaced. Instead of the sun it had once been, it was now shaped like a tree. She rapped it against the door and half-a-minute later, the door was opened by the house's owner – who, unlike the first time she had met him, was thankfully wearing clothes, rather than just a short dressing gown.

Markellos grinned upon seeing her. "Am I glad to see you," he told her, extending his hand.

Lena, flipping up her sunglasses, shook it firmly. "It's wonderful to see you, Markellos," she said sincerely. "How long's it been, four years?"

"Since we saw each other at Hedda's party, yes," replied Markellos. He turned his gaze to Remus, who was standing a little behind Lena, and his expression became more shrewd. "So. This is _him_."

Lena reached behind and pulled Remus forward so he was level with her. "Yes. This is my partner, Remus Lupin."

Markellos eyed him for another second, then offered his hand to Remus too. "A pleasure to make the acquaintance of the man Lena has deemed good enough for her," he said, the corners of his lips slightly turning upwards.

Remus blinked, clearly not knowing what to say to that. Lena lightly smacked him on the arm, reminding him to accept the proffered hand. He quickly took it, muttering, "Pleased to meet you, too."

"Well," said Markellos, taking a step back, "you better come in."

Instead of taking them to his study, Markellos led Lena and Remus to his kitchen and gestured for them to sit down at the small round table there.

"Obviously," he said as they all sat, "I would love to catch up with everything that's been happening with you, Lena – and I am most intrigued to learn a little more about you, Mr Lupin. But I must address my, ah, _business_ proposal first. If you're not interested, you can stay and we may chat as long as you like. But if you accept the job, I suspect you'll want to begin straight away."

"Sounds good to me," said Lena. Remus crossed his arms and leant back in his chair, watching Markellos with a neutral expression.

Markellos nodded. "Right. Well, a few weeks ago, I hired someone to procure a certain magical relict for me. This agent, upon successfully retrieving the object from its former, er, residence, sent a message to tell me he had secured it and would be here the next day to deliver it to me. But when he arrived, he presented to me a completely different object, and was adamant that this was the one I had asked for. Upon examining him, I discovered that some time between sending the message and coming here, a Memory Modification had been performed on him."

"You think the relict was intercepted by another interested party?" asked Lena.

"I'm certain of it," said Markellos.

"And you don't think it was the previous owner reclaiming it?"

"No, I don't think it was." Markellos' manner became more careful. "You see, the relict in question is the Medallion of Circe."

"Ah." She had seen the story of its disappearance in the _Daily Prophet_. "So that was you."

Remus was looking between Markellos and Lena in confusion. "I'm sorry, the what?" he inquired.

Markellos glanced at him. "You are unfamiliar with that particular artefact?"

Remus pursed his lips. "I've heard of Circe, of course. But I'm afraid the subject of historical artefacts is not my speciality."

"The Medallion of Circe," explained Lena, "is an object of particular note because although it has definitely been imbued with magic, nobody actually knows for certain what it _does_. The prevailing theory, however, is that the Medallion was in fact a key for something. But as to what it opens–" She shrugged. "There's only speculation: maybe a chest, maybe a room, maybe something entirely different. People have searched Circe's island for possible locks many times, but nobody's ever found anything."

"Right," said Remus. "So, who is the previous owner?"

"The Musée d'Histoire Magique."

Remus stared at her, then at Markellos. "The French Museum of Magical History?" He narrowed his eyes. "When you said 'procure', you meant steal, didn't you?"

"The Musée has no right to keep the Medallion," said Markellos quietly.

Before Remus could say anything, Lena quickly cut in. "What you have to understand, Remus, is that the matter of ownership is a little more complicated when it comes to magical relicts. See, although it's been mentioned in historical records for centuries, the actual Medallion was only discovered a little over two centuries ago, by a French Magiarchaeologist on Circe's island. And he took it back to France with him, and gave it to the Musée. But–"

"Circe was Greek," interrupted Markellos. "And she is an important figure in our culture's history. What Levoleur did–"

"The French Magiarchaeologist," Lena clarified for Remus.

"–was blatant thievery," continued Markellos. "And we have been petitioning the Musée to return it to Greece ever since, but they ignore us. So," he spread his hands in a ' _so what?'_ gesticulation, "I finally took matters into my own hands."

"I see," said Remus after a pause. His expression, however, remained troubled.

Wanting to draw Markellos' attention from him, Lena asked, "Would I then be correct in assuming that the job you are offering me is to track down whoever intercepted the Medallion on its way to you, and then retrieve it from them?"

"Exactly," said Markellos. "Are you interested?"

The answer was _definitely_. But Lena could see that Remus still had some misgivings.

"Do you mind if I talk with Remus for a minute?" she asked Markellos.

He nodded, and stood up. "I'll be in my study," he told her, and left.

"What are you thinking?" Lena said to Remus softly.

Remus leant forward on the table. "I think I underestimated the amount of illegality that would be involved," he admitted.

"And that's bothering you?"

He stared down at the table for a few seconds, before looking back up at her. "People expect werewolves to be criminals, Lena," he told her quietly. "I've spent my life trying to prove that expectation unfair and discriminatory."

Lena bit her lip. "Your friends became unregistered Animagi for you," she pointed out.

"I didn't ask them to do that," replied Remus immediately, before sighing. He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to be a thief."

"But this wouldn't be stealing," insisted Lena. "I told you, possession of relicts like the Medallion is more complicated than that. These aren't matters that can just be sorted out by money, and the International Confederation of Wizards has never made any laws on the subject."

Remus looked at her intently for a long moment. Then he asked, "Do you think it's the _right_ thing to do?"

"Hiring someone to steal the Medallion from the Musée, or accepting the job?"

"The latter," said Remus, after a moment's deliberation.

"I definitely don't think there's anything wrong with trying to locate the Medallion's current whereabouts," said Lena. "And I'm willing to wager that whoever has taken it probably has less of a claim to it than Markellos does. So yeah, I reckon it's the right thing to do."

Remus stood up. "Then let's tell Markellos we're in."

* * *

Remus found the climate of Bucharest more agreeable to him than Mykonos', but it was still warmer than ideal. But there was no way he was complaining about it to Lena – not when she had given him this opportunity to experience a world that was larger than just Britain.

"So why do you think this guy we're going to see will have any clue of what happened to the Medallion?" he asked her as they turned into an alleyway.

"Because within what outsiders refer to as the 'criminal underworld', there are lots of different circles of association," explained Lena. "And while Markellos and Sârbu's don't overlap, mine – courtesy of Valeriya – do. Now, whoever intercepted the Medallion will want to make sure that none of Markellos' friends hear anything about it, so nothing gets back to him." She stopped in front of a door and pulled her wand out of her bag. "But it's quite likely that some of the interceptor's associates know something about it. And as Sârbu is an extremely well-connected man, there's a decent chance he might have heard something." She drew a rune Remus didn't recognise with her wand on the door. "After all, the Medallion is a pretty well known artefact." The rune glowed orange before fading, and Lena opened the door and went inside. Remus quickly followed her.

They appeared to be in a shop of some kind, but Remus couldn't see any products it was selling. There were armchairs on one side of the room, and a counter with a door behind it on the other. From the centre of the ceiling hung a chandelier.

Lena walked over to the counter and rang the little bell on it.

"Have you known this Sârbu guy long?" asked Remus.

She looked back at him, smiling. "Since I was seven." She held up her wand. "He made this."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "He's a wandmaker?"

"Among other things," replied Lena delicately. "Valeriya had fairly regular business with him when I was a kid." She turned back to the counter. "I had quite a crush on him."

Remus had been inspecting the chandelier, but when Lena said that, he looked at her so fast that his neck made a small crack. "Sorry, you what?"

But before Lena could even look back at him, the door behind the counter opened.

"Of all the shops in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

The man standing in the doorway could have been anywhere between his mid thirties to late forties. He was, Remus thought, irritatingly handsome, with brown hair that was tied back in a short ponytail, and piercing blue eyes.

"Hello, Sârbu," said Lena softly. Remus couldn't see her face, but he could tell from her tone that she was smiling. "It's been a while."

Sârbu smiled back, showing his pearly white, perfect teeth. "Much too long." His eyes flicked from Lena to Remus. He raised an eyebrow. "And who is this?"

"This is Remus," replied Lena, gesturing for him to join her at the counter. "My better half."

As he came to stand beside her, Remus wrapped an arm around her waist, and nodded at Sârbu. Lena glanced up at him with a half-surprised, half-amused expression, and he knew that the possessiveness behind the gesture had not gone unnoticed.

Sârbu, meanwhile, appeared to be studying Remus' face. "Fascinating," he said at last, and the reason behind the examination struck Remus – Sârbu had been identifying him as a werewolf, much like Lena had the first time they'd met. "Now," continued Sârbu, shifting his gaze back to Lena, "I suspect it's too much to hope that this is a social call."

"I'm afraid so," said Lena. "It's information I'm looking for."

"And you came to me?" Sârbu leant forward onto the counter. "I'm flattered."

"Well," replied Lena, twisting a lock of hair around her finger, "I've always found you to be an informed man."

Sârbu chucked lowly. "I suppose there are worse reputations for a man to have," he said with a wink.

Remus glared at him, irritated by both his flirtatious manner, and the fact that Lena seemed to be enjoying – even more, _encouraging_ – it.

Ignoring the dirty look Remus was giving him, Sârbu asked, "So, what particular sort of information were you hoping to charm out of me?"

"I'm sure you heard of the recent disappearance of the Medallion of Circe from the Musée d'Histoire Magique."

"But of course," said Sârbu, his eyes lighting up."It did cause _quite_ a stir."

Lena cocked her heard. "And would it be too much to assume," she said, "that you are also aware that the Medallion never made its way to the original instigator of its disappearance?"

Sârbu tapped his fingers on the countertop. "I may have heard some salacious rumours," he drawled.

Lena leant forward onto the countertop, bringing her face far too close to Sârbu's for Remus' comfort. "Do you like me enough to share such rumours?" she murmured.

Sârbu grinned. "Oh, I like you very much, Lena Lestrange," he said, his voice barely above whisper. "But I also happen to be, er, what's the word – ah, an _opportunist_."

Lena straightened up. "Good," she said, her tone suddenly more business-like. "I find it much harder to trust anyone who isn't."

Sârbu threw his head back and laughed. "Spoken like the girl raised by Valeriya Dolohov." When his mirth had subsided, he said, "All right. I can give you a name."

"And your price?"

After staring at her for a few seconds, as if contemplating something, Sârbu pulled out a scrap of parchment, a quill and an inkpot from underneath the counter. He quickly scribbled something down, then passed the scrap to Lena. Holding it at an angle which meant Remus couldn't see what it said, Lena read it with an arched eyebrow.

"You don't ask for much, do you?" she muttered sarcastically.

Sârbu shrugged. "If it is too difficult–"

"Oh, I can get it," said Lena calmly, handing back the parchment. "You'll just have to wait until I complete this job."

"Fair enough," said Sârbu, putting everything back beneath the counter. "Well then, I can give you the name – and I'm sure you'll find it's more than enough to get started on your, er, job."

Lena looked at him interestedly. "It's a big one, then?"

Sârbu snorted. "I'll say. The name," he smirked, "is Vettori."

* * *

The Vettori family was notorious throughout Europe for both its position of respect in polite society, and its frequent forays into the more criminal. Until eight years ago, it had been headed by Signor Niccolò Vettori. He, however, had met his end in a supposed nasty accident with a Chimaera – although there were many who suspected his being locked in a small, confined space with the creature wasn't as accidental as the official report claimed.

Since his untimely demise, his widow, Loredana, had taken up the position of matriarch, and had done nothing to change the direction of the family business so it might make less enemies who had no qualms about murder and access to Chimaeras. Lena had never met the woman, but knew Valeriya had had a meeting with her upon Loredana's ascension about the possibility of establishing a business relationship. The meeting had been unsuccessful.

The principal family home, in which Loredana and her three adult sons – Arsenio, Gioffre and Renzo – lived, was located in Florence, Italy. Thus, Lena and Remus spent the majority of the first few days of their investigation in the Tuscan city.

There were definitely worse places to spend the day working.

"Do you think it's possible to make this meal as well back in England," asked Remus, swallowing his mouthful of Carpaccio, "or can it only be this good here?"

It was their third day on the job, and they were having lunch in an establishment on the bank of the Arno.

Lena, nibbling on her tomato Bruschetta, shrugged. "I'm sure there are recipes available. Perhaps if you tried making it enough times, you could get it to the standard you want. You're a fairly decent cook, after all."

"What a glowing endorsement of my culinary skills," said Remus drily. "You're welcome to make dinner tonight."

"I hope that isn't an insinuation that I can't cook."

"Well, as I've never seen you make anything more complicated than a sandwich..."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "Darling, I can make highly advanced Potions that even professionals struggle with. Just because I don't usually cook or bake doesn't mean I _can't_." She smirked. "And why would I when I have you to do it, and you just look so damn _good_ in an apron?"

"Is that all I am to you?" said Remus with mock indignation. "A pretty face who belongs in a kitchen?"

Licking the crumbs of the Bruschetta off her fingers, Lena replied with a wink, "You're also excellent in bed."

As Remus attempted and failed to conceal a pleased smirk, Lena felt another pair of eyes on her, and turned her own gaze to their owner, a woman sitting by herself at a table in the corner. If Lena was to make a guess, she would have said that the woman was somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years old. She had carefully styled long, dark brown hair, olive skin, and large brown eyes that held Lena's gaze for a moment before looking away. But Lena could tell this woman had been more than just casually observing her.

She took a sip of water, before calming telling Remus, "I'm being watched."

Remus frowned. "Watched in the professional sense?" he asked in a low voice.

Lena nodded.

"An employee of the Vettoris? Or the Ministry?"

Before they had left England, Lena and Remus had discussed the possibility that because of his known association with Sirius, the Auror office were keeping a close eye on Remus, and might see his leaving the British Isles as an attempt to meet up with the wanted criminal, and have him followed.

"She's definitely not from the Ministry," said Lena. "And I don't think she's behaving inconspicuously enough to work for the Vettori family."

"It's a woman?"

"A very pretty woman," murmured Lena, sensing the watcher's eyes flicking back to her. Deciding to take a gamble, she told Remus, "I'm going to head to the bathroom, and see if she follows me."

Looking concerned, Remus said , "All right, but be careful."

"Aren't I always?" replied Lena, smiling as she stood up. She quickly wound her way around the tables, and to the ladies' room.

There was nobody else inside, so Lena went over to one of the sinks while she waited to see if the woman followed. Sure enough, in just under twenty seconds, the door swung open again, and Lena quickly turned on the tap to wash her hands.

The other woman's eyes rested on her momentarily, before she headed for one of the cubicles.

Watching the woman in the mirror, Lena said, "Non eri molto sottile nella tua osservazione di me." _You were not very subtle in your observation of me._

The woman paused at the cubicle door. Then she turned around, smiling. "Surely a beautiful woman such as yourself is used to being admired by strangers," she said in an accent Lena recognised as Greek.

Lena turned the tap off and grabbed some paper towel from the dispenser. Wiping her hands, she faced the woman.

With her face coated in makeup, Lena did look more conventionally beautiful than usual – an exercise less in her vanity, and more because her normal sickly appearance would be more likely to cause wariness. But she wasn't naive.

"Not frequently enough for it to disguise the fact that you've been watching me for an entirely different purpose," she replied evenly.

The woman cocked her head. "And what purpose would that be?"

Lena didn't know that yet, but she had no intention of letting the woman know. "A professional interest," she said simply. "Not a personal."

Taking a step closer, the woman said, in an unmistakeably suggestive voice, "Perhaps it's both."

A flash of black on the woman's left inner wrist caught Lena's eyes. It appeared to be a tattoo of some kind, but the way she had positioned her arms meant that Lena couldn't make out what it depicted.

Thinking quickly, she extended her left hand. "Then may I inquire what the name of the interested party is?" she said smoothly.

The woman accepted the hand with a flirtatious smile. "Theodora," she answered.

Lena returned the smile. "Charmed." But just as Theodora started to draw back her hand, Lena tightened her grip on it, and quickly turned it over so the mark on the wrist was visible.

The tattoo was of a black circle surrounded by eight wands that were pointing outwards. It was a symbol Lena recognised well.

She dropped Theodora's hand, staring at her in shock.

Theodora, on the other hand, was grinning delightedly. "Oh, you have no idea how long I've wanted to meet you, Lena Lestrange."

"How do you know my name?" asked Lena sharply, moving a few steps back so she was closer to the bathroom's exit. She reached around behind her to pull her wand out of her waistband. "And why do you have that symbol on your wrist? The Orkístike haven't existed in nearly a millennium."

"On the contrary," said Theodora, "we've just kept our existence a well-kept secret for a millennium. And as to how I know your name – how could we, the most devoted followers of Hecate's legacy, not be aware of the one who currently possesses the Orb?"

Lena had learned about the Orkístike not long after she had begun her research into Hecate's Orb as a child. After Hecate's death, her most loyal acolytes had started an order, one dedicated to watching the Orb, and to whomever's hands in which it fell. Their purpose was to wait for the one person who successfully Mastered the Orb, and then pledge their loyalty and service to them.

But everything that Lena had heard and read said that the Orkístike had been disbanded in the early eleventh century. To say she was shocked to discover they still existed was an understatement.

"I don't have the Orb anymore," Lena told Theodora. "I haven't for seven years."

"One does not need to physically have the Orb to possess it, dear," said Theodora, looking amused. "It is to be _bound_ to it – and as you are not dead, you are still bound."

Unable to help herself, Lena touched her chest. "It's left its mark, yes," she said. "But that's where our connection ends – and I don't _want_ anything else to do with it," she added firmly.

Theodora looked at her curiously, as if studying her. Then she said, "Perhaps you do fear it now. But you still want it. Even the death of your grandmother could not completely erase such a desire."

"No," said Lena vehemently, unnerved by how much Theodora knew of her life. "I am _done_ with it. I don't know where it is, and I don't want to know." She narrowed her eyes. "And I certainly don't want anything to do with you and your creepy friends."

Theodora's jaw tightened. She was clearly having some difficulty restraining from snapping at Lena.

Not interested in anything else the woman had to say, Lena turned around and headed for the exit.

"You were eleven."

Her hand just about to reach the door, Lena paused.

"I've read the accounts from others throughout history who the Orb has allowed to attempt to Master it," continued Theodora, and Lena could sense her moving closer. "I know when you first laid hands on the Orb, it offered you a choice – to suffer eternal torture, or the release of death." Her voice became quieter. "You were eleven, and you refused to give up your life, even to end an _unbearable_ pain."

"It wasn't unbearable," said Lena quietly, staring at the door. "The very fact that you had to _live_ with it meant that it could be borne."

Slowly, she turned around to face Theodora, and her stomach twisted at the look of admiration on the other woman's face.

"You," breathed Theodora," are the youngest person to ever survive their first encounter with the Orb. By _decades_. And despite being separated from it for _seven_ years, you are still alive." She took another step forward, so she was only a foot away from Lena. "Do you really think," she whispered, "that the Orb would ever relinquish its bond with you?" She held a hand over her chest. "We have waited over two thousand years for someone to be worthy of Hecate's legacy. I know in my heart that someone is _you_."

Lena stared at her for a long moment, then gave her a small smile. "But _I_ don't."

* * *

 _Monday 1 August, 1994:_

Lena wanted to tell Remus the truth about who Theodora was. She really did. But every time she opened her mouth to tell him, a lie came out. So now Remus believed Theodora, as a Greek witch, was simply interested in seeing the Medallion returned to Circe's homeland, and would be doing nothing to impede their efforts to retrieve it.

The said retrieval was to be attempted exactly one week after Lena and Remus had accepted the job. Discrete interviews with associates of the Vettori family had allowed them to determine that the most likely current location of the Medallion was a trophy room in the family home in Florence. An inspection of the house's outside informed Lena that there was only one way to enter the house without setting off the incredibly sensitive Intruder Alert Enchantment, and that was through the front door.

So Lena sent Signora Vettori letter requesting a meeting, under the pretence that as she had found Valeriya an unsuitable business partner, perhaps the lady would find Lena more agreeable. To her relief, Signora Vettori agreed to a meeting at Lena's suggested time – Monday morning. A time, which Lena had discovered, when all three Vettori sons would be engaged in business elsewhere, leaving their mother alone in the house, and thus making it easier for them to extricate the Medallion.

"And it will work for precisely four minutes and seventeen seconds?" Remus asked Lena, inspecting the vial of potion she had handed him.

"Precisely," affirmed Lena. "That should be plenty of time to cover your entrance." She gave him a second vial. "And this should be enough for your exit."

The potion was a Temporary Invisibility Draught of Lena's own design. The plan was for Remus to take it and slip inside the Vettori House the same time the door was opened for Lena. While she would keep Signora Vettori distracted with her 'business proposal', Remus would search the rest of the house for the trophy room and Medallion. If he found it and could take it without being hindered by any protective enchantments the Vettoris had put on it, he would grab it, drink the second lot of Potion and signal to Lena that he'd been successful, and she would find a way to end the meeting, and they would quickly leave together and get out of Italy before the Vettori family was any wiser. If he couldn't locate it or was unable to retrieve it, he would signal to Lena that he'd been unsuccessful, and she would tell Signora Vettori she was interested in a partnership moving forward, and arrange another meeting.

The only concern was that Remus would be without a wand, as the potion was not strong enough to conceal an object that magical as well as the Medallion. This snag in the plan was making Lena incredibly anxious, but Remus assured her he could handle it, and she didn't want him to believe that she thought he wasn't capable enough to be her partner for the job.

Two minutes before they entered the house, Remus took the potion and immediately vanished. Satisfied that he was completely concealed, they walked up the street on which the house was located, and knocked on the front door at precisely the agreed meeting time. Fifteen seconds later, the door opened.

"Miss Lestrange, I presume?"

Signora Loredana Vettori was a tall, wiry woman with greying dark hair pulled back into a tight bun. She appeared to at least be in her mid-fifties, and her lined face wore an expression of both interest and wariness.

Lena smiled politely, and extended a hand. "Correct. It is a pleasure to meet you, Signora Vettori."

Signora Vettori shook her hand and invited her inside. As Lena crossed the threshold, she could feel Remus right behind her.

"Why don't we go through to the drawing room?" said Signora Vettori, gesturing to her right. "And may I offer you anything to drink?" She smiled thinly. "I am afraid I don't have tea."

"I'm all right, thank you," replied Lena, as she felt Remus lightly tap her shoulder, indicating he was going to head upstairs to begin his search. "Please, let us sit down and talk. There is much we have to discuss."

"Of course," said Signora Vettori, leading her through to the drawing room. The lady of the house took a seat on the chaise lounge, and Lena sat opposite in an armchair. "I must say, I was surprised to hear from you, Miss Lestrange. I assumed you would be working alongside your aunt, at least at first, rather than starting off in this business completely independently."

Lena smiled, and spread her hands. "What can I say? I prefer to work alone."

* * *

It was an incredibly strange sensation – and quite disconcerting – to not be able to see your own body. It was quite different from the odd occasion Remus had used James' invisibility cloak at school. So even though it made him more vulnerable to detection, Remus was relieved when the potion wore off and he could see all his limbs again.

Quietly and thoroughly, he checked each room on the house's second floor. It was in the last room that he found the Medallion. It was around the neck of a marble bust, which was situated in the centre of a long table, surrounded by other objects that he imagined Lena would probably be able to identify, but were a mystery to him.

He approached the table carefully, and looked at it closely, trying to deduce whether there were any protective enchantments. It would have been much easier with a wand, but Lena had taught him some signs that would be visible to the naked eye. None, however, jumped out at him.

Remus took a deep breath. "Well, here goes nothing," he muttered to himself, and reached out to take the Medallion. But just before his fingers touched the chain, a low voice came from behind him.

"Cosa abbiamo qui?"

Remus spun around, his hand diving into his pocket for the second vial of the potion. Apparently, the youngest of the Vettori sons – Renzo – had not gone to the meeting at which he was expected. His red nose indicated that a cold might be the cause of his lack of departure. He was pointing his wand at Remus, a nasty smirk on his face.

Realising he wouldn't have time to pull the vial out and drink from it before Renzo hit him with a spell, Remus quickly dived to the side. As he did, he grabbed something heavy off the table and chucked it at the armed wizard. The object, an idol of some description, exploded in the air as it was hit by the curse Renzo had fired at Remus.

He was now snarling at Remus, saying something else in Italian that Remus didn't understand. But he got the violent gist of it.

Remus had landed near a cabinet. As Renzo began to fire another curse at him, Remus gave the cabinet a shove, and it toppled over in the direction of Renzo, who stumbled back just in time to avoid being crushed by it. Taking advantage of his distraction, Remus launched himself at Renzo, knocking him over. As they fell to the ground, Renzo's wand flew out of his hand.

* * *

"Your connections certainly are wide-spread–"

Signora Vettori broke off mid-sentence as there came a noise from upstairs. Both her and Lena's eyes flicked upstairs.

"That must be my son, Renzo," explained Signora Vettori, and it required a great deal of effort for Lena to not visibly tense. "He has been ill, and I thought he would still be sleeping at this hour–"

Then came an even bigger sound, like something large crashing to the floor.

This time, Signora Vettori looked more concerned. She began to stand up.

Lena automatically drew her wand and Stunned the older woman, who crumpled to the floor with an expression of surprise. She quickly followed up with a Body-Bind, then ran out of the drawing room and up the staircase.

' _If you die, Remus,_ ' she thought to herself, ' _I'll kill you._ '

* * *

Remus may have been taller than the youngest Vettori son, but Renzo was broader and stronger. He managed to roll them over so he was on top, and squarely punched Remus in the jaw. Remus grunted in pain. His grip slackened on Renzo, who staggered to his feet. Just as he was about to stumble over to where his wand had landed, Remus shot his hand out, grabbed Renzo's ankle and pulled, making the larger man trip. Remus pushed himself to his knees, trying to stand up so he could retrieve the wand first, but Renzo kicked out at him, his foot catching Remus in the gut.

That hurt like hell. Remus clutched his stomach, but tried once again to push himself off the floor. But before he could, Renzo had crawled over to the wand, and was now pointing it at Remus, his expression livid.

" _Cruc_ –"

Lena suddenly appeared at the doorway, and brought her wand down in a violent, slashing motion. And as she did, Renzo's outstretched right arm was severed from the elbow, and fell to the floor.

Renzo let out an ear-splitting scream, as blood gushed out of the severed limb. Remus was unable to tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight, until Lena, whose wand was still trained on the screaming man, spoke to him.

"Get the Medallion," she ordered.

Unthinkingly, Remus stood and went over to the table, where he took the Medallion off the bust. As he brought it over to her, he began to say, "Lena–"

But she just grabbed him by the hand and tugged him out of the room. They raced down the corridor and the staircase.

"Where's the mother?" asked Remus as they reached the front door.

"Stunned and in a Body Bind," replied Lena, wrenching it open. "We need to go, Renzo's going to get over the shock soon and will call his brothers back."

"But his arm–"

"Come on," she insisted, pulling him out the doorway, "it's time to get the hell out of Florence!"

* * *

"Let me see it."

Remus allowed Lena to unbutton his shirt. She hissed through her teeth when she saw the large bruise on his abdomen, and he in turn winced when she lightly poked it.

"You're lucky he didn't rupture anything," she murmured. Mortimer, who was perched on her shoulder, nodded in agreement.

He was lying on their bed, with Lena kneeling beside him. They had decided it would be too dangerous to go straight to Mykon's Grove to hand over the Medallion to Markellos, but Lena had sent their employer a message as soon as they had gotten back to the Swiss house to let him know they had it.

"Well," said Lena, "I'd try kissing it better, but..." she rolled over so she could reach her bedside table. She opened a drawer and pulled out a small tin. "I expect that this will do more good."

She took off the lid, then gently covered the bruise on his stomach as well as the one on his jaw with the yellow ointment inside it, and Remus began to feel its effects almost instantly. When she'd finished, she put the tin away. Then she lay down on her side next to him, stroking his hair.

Mortimer, evidently sensing that even with Remus injured there was a chance he and Lena might begin canoodling, hopped off her shoulder and scurried out of the room.

There was a short silence before Lena softly said, "I'm sorry. I was leaving far too much to chance with that plan, and I should never have–"

"Lena," Remus cut her off, reaching up to touch her cheek, "it's okay. How could we have known that Renzo would still be there?"

"By being more thorough," Lena pointed out. "The whole thing was too risky, Remus."

"But we got the Medallion. We completed the job." He smiled at her. "Let's consider the whole thing a learning experience."

Lena gazed down at him. "Why are you so nice?" she whispered, twisting a lock of his hair around her finger.

"Because one of us has to be," replied Remus without thinking, and he immediately regretted it.

Lena let go of his hair and sat up, tension visible throughout her body as she turned away from him.

' _Idiot,'_ Remus berated himself, grimacing as he pushed himself up too. _'You know how saying that sort of thing affects her._ '

"You think what I did to Renzo was disproportionate retribution," said Lena quietly.

Remus placed his hand on her back. "I think you acted instinctively."

Lena turned back to face him. "That wasn't instinct," she told him. "Instinct would have been killing him. Cutting off his arm was me being merciful."

Remus frowned. It was that kind of talk from Lena that brought everything Valeriya had told him back to the forefront of his mind. "Lena–"

"He was going to use the Cruciatus Curse on you, Remus!" said Lena, clearly distressed. "He would have tortured you to find out who hired you to get the Medallion, and once he found out, he would have killed you!"

 _'So tell me, Remus – just what the fuck do you think is going to happen if you get yourself killed?'_

A lump began to form in Remus' throat as Valeriya's question reverberated in his mind. If she acted this way at the mere threat of harm against him–

The problem was there was just something so bloody attractive to him about her intensely protective nature. And that was so often the case – the very same things that concerned and frightened him about Lena were also things that he adored.

So instead of telling her that her instinct to kill Renzo worried him, Remus leant forward and kissed Lena. If this action surprised her, she didn't show it. Instead, she put her hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him back until he was lying down again, with her hovering over him.

Just as Remus was trying to figure out which way of making love to her would cause the least discomfort given his present injuries, Lena pulled back.

"I have to go back out again," she said.

"Why?" asked Remus, half-groaning with the frustration of being denied the intimacy for which he'd been hoping.

"Because now we've got the Medallion, I need to acquire the asset which Sârbu asked for."

The mention of Lena's childhood crush was more than effective as a turn-off for Remus, and his look of distaste did not slip past Lena.

She grinned. "Why, Remus Lupin, I do believe you're jealous."

"Am not," grumbled Remus.

Lena quirked an incredulous eyebrow.

Remus sighed. "Fine," he admitted crossly. "But is that unreasonable, after the way you flirted with each other?"

"Of course it's not unreasonable. He is, after all, a very attractive and charming man. It's completely understandable that you would feel threatened."

Sitting up, Remus glared at her. "Threatened? By that twat?" He scoffed. "As if. I could take him."

"At what, a quiz on Hinkypunks?"

"You little–"

Lena let out a shriek of laughter as Remus, ignoring the pain in his abdomen, shoved her back and climbed on top of her, pinning her arms down. He brought his face down to hers.

"I'm a dangerous man, Lena," he breathed. "A werewolf. Don't forget that."

She gazed into his eyes intently. "I never do," she whispered. "But you choose to be a _nice_ man. A _kind_ man." She smiled softly. "And that's why Sârbu could never compare to you. That's why I love _you_."

Remus let go of her arms, placing his hands on either side of her face and kissing her. As Lena opened her mouth, she slid her legs out from underneath him and wrapped them around him. Then, just as Remus was running his tongue along the underside of hers, Lena threw all of her weight to the left, rolling them over so she was on top.

"But I really do have to go now," she said, dismounting him.

Remus pushed himself up so he was resting on his elbows. "Alone?"

"It's a one-person job," Lena told him as she got off the bed. "Besides, I'd rather that someone stay here with the Medallion."

"When will you be back?"

"Late, I imagine. Don't wait up for me." She picked up her wand and bag. Just as she was about to leave the bedroom, she paused, and turned back to Remus. "Darling?"

"Yes?"

"Regarding your jealousy–"

Remus waved a hand dismissively. "It's really nothing, Lena. I'm just not used to seeing other people flirt with you."

"I was just going to say," Lena said after a short silence, "that if I caught someone looking at you with too much interest, I'd probably gouge their eyes out."

There was another pause.

Then Remus gave her a small smile. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I'm sure you would."

* * *

Remus waited up for Lena as long as he could, but exhausted from the morning's adventure, he fell asleep shortly after midnight. When he woke up at half-past seven, he was alone in bed, but upon seeing the shoes Lena had worn yesterday standing nearing the doorway, quickly headed downstairs. As he did, it occurred to him that the ointment Lena had applied yesterday had worked – his bruises were gone.

On his way to the kitchen, he passed the living room. He continued on for several metres, then halted. Slowly, he walked backwards and looked inside the living room once more.

"Lena?" he called out.

"Yes?" her voice answered from the kitchen.

"Why is there a man gagged and bound to a chair in the living room?"

For there, in the centre of the room, was a man who Remus had never seen before in his life, and he was tied to a plain, wooden chair. He looked to be thirty-ish, and appeared to be unconscious.

Remus glanced to his left as Lena walked up to him, holding a mug of tea in her hands.

"He's Sârbu's price," she said simply, taking a sip.

"Sârbu's price is a person?"

"Yep."

"And you've kidnapped them?"

"I suppose that's a fair way to describe it."

Remus closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "Fucking hell, Lena."

He heard Lena sigh. "I thought you might react like this."

Opening his eyes a crack and squinting at her, he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "Oh, I'm sorry, were you expecting a high-five?"

"Look, why don't you come through to the kitchen, have a cup of tea, and I'll explain things a little more clearly."

It was Remus' turn to sigh, but he followed her to the kitchen and sat down at the table as she made his tea.

"The man in the living room is named Bram Koning," began Lena. "He comes from an influential family in the Netherlands. His father's fairly high up in the Wizarding government there."

"This just gets better and better," muttered Remus.

"His father's position," continued Lena, ignoring the interruption, "allows Bram to get away with a lot of bad behaviour. And I mean _bad_." She set down a mug in front of Remus, and sat opposite to him.

"Criminal activity?" asked Remus.

"Assault, Muggle-baiting, the dealing and using of illegal substances – that sort of thing," said Lena. "About ten months ago, his drug dealing got him into a dispute with the youngest son of the Karga family."

"Karga?" Remus had heard of that name before. They were supposedly the richest family in Wizarding Turkey.

"Yes. Now, the Kargas are pretty shady, but they have a code of honour which they take pretty seriously. So when the dispute escalated, the Karga boy challenged Koning to a duel, which he accepted. But when it came to the duel, Koning cheated, having Karga, unbeknownst to him, drugged shortly beforehand. Koning killed him, and the Karga family have had a price on his head ever since. Sârbu is interested in collecting that reward."

Remus ran a hand through his hair. "So he's a bad guy. A murderer. Okay. But that doesn't mean that the family of the victim should take justice into their own hands. There are proper channels for this sort of thing–"

"But there aren't, Remus," said Lena earnestly. "Not really. This was an international incident. The Turkish Law Enforcement doesn't have the jurisdiction to investigate a Dutch wizard living in the Netherlands, and the influence of Koning's father means that the Dutch won't look into the incident."

"But the International Confederation of Wizards–"

"Is in the business of making laws, not ensuring that they're upheld," explained Lena. "They don't actually have a body who polices international crime. That's left to the individual countries involved in the incident , and international co-operation really only happens when there are fears that the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy may be broken – like in the cases of Grindelwald and Voldemort, even Sirius. Koning's killing of the Kraga boy doesn't fall into that category."

It was a lot for Remus to take in. He knew the criminal justice system in Wizarding Britain wasn't perfect – Sirius was proof of that – but he had always believed in the principle of it. He hadn't realised how complicated the situation could become on an international scale.

"What will happen to Koning when Sârbu hands him over to the Karga family?" he finally asked.

"They'll most likely torture him, then kill him," said Lena evenly.

"And you're okay with that?"

Lena took a long sip of tea. When she'd swallowed, she said, "How could I condemn them for doing what I would in their position?"

Remus stared at her, and Lena calmly held his gaze. He could not see in a single doubt in her eyes.

It was at that moment he almost told her everything Valeriya had said to him. How there was something twisted, something destructive, something _irredeemable_ inside of her, and it was his greatest fear that that something would take over everything else.

But Remus held his tongue. Because if Lena thought he didn't have faith in her, how could she ever have faith in herself?

* * *

 **Fun fact: So about halfway through writing this chapter, a ring-tailed possum decided to move into the large flowerpot that sits outside my bedroom window, and has been living there since. It's sleeping in there as I write this now, and I like to think of it as a sort of silent writing companion.**

 **Anyhoo, how did everyone like the chapter? As I've mentioned before, I feel like writing action is a particular weak point of mine, so I'd be interested to hear if anyone has any thoughts on that - and of course, any other criticisms you might have. Personally, I'm still not keen on the ending.**

 **Responses to reviews:**

 **Laurafxox: It's so interesting to hear your thoughts on this version of Voldemort. One of the key things I've wanted to explore in this story is the idea that a terrible person might still do good things, and vice versa. I find the questions of 'what is unforgivable' and 'where is beyond redemption' fascinating, and there are so many characters in _Harry Potter_ that are great case studies for that. **

**Iris Quincy Rosewood: Fleetwood Mac are great :) As to being on the edge of your seat, I only hope I can get you to stay there, moving forward :D Regarding lurking, I completely understand what you're saying, and I do super appreciate the nice comments I get. On the other hand, I also totally get why some people are reluctant to review, because that's how I am on this site - just because I hate not being able to give feedback face-to-face, or with the depth I'm used to when peer-reviewing. That's why I usually try to give a proper response to anyone who asks a question in their review, or highlights a particular thing they liked or didn't like.**

 **Einklley: Some very interesting predictions :) Yes, I'd say that Lena's choice in songs is incredibly reflective :)**

 **rebelforcauses: That's very lovely of you to say :) I hope the re-reads hold up, because I'm constantly questioning the decisions I made earlier in this story.**

 **Littlecosma001: I'm glad to hear that it makes Lena seem more real. One of the biggest difficulties of writing this story is trying to make someone as out-of-the-ordinary as Lena feel somewhat believable.**

 **Mika: To someone like myself who is limited to only understanding one language, your grasp of English is pretty damn impressive :) And I really appreciate the reviews you do write, they're incredibly encouraging :) I also appreciate your fabulous taste in music :D I had no idea that Amy Winehouse did a version of 'Will You Love Me Tomorrow', so thanks for making me aware of that!**

 **As always, I'm happy to answer any non-spoilerish questions you may have, so always feel free to ask them!**

 **Hopefully the next update won't be too far off. So until then, cheers!**


	37. A Natural Inclination

**Hello all! Here is Chapter 37 :)**

 **A big thank you to the reviewers of the last chapter (a few responses in the AN at the end). Also, I just want to reiterate my huge appreciation for everyone who has followed/favourited _To Be Human_ \- it's so much nicer to write something when you know there are people interested in reading it.**

 **And now, on with the story...**

* * *

 _Wednesday 3 August, 1994:_

"It's beautiful."

Lena smiled as she watched Markellos gaze at the Medallion of Circe with awe.

"And now it's yours," she said. "I assume you've already got some security in place for wherever you're going to keep it?"

"Naturally." He glanced at her. "You know the Vettoris are out for your blood – there's already a price on your head." His eyes flicked over to Remus, who was leaning against the kitchen bench. "And your 'unknown associate'."

They had decided it would be safer for Markellos to pick up the Medallion at the Swiss house, instead of taking it to Mykon's Grove, where undoubtedly the Vettori family had people waiting. Lena suspected they were less interested in reclaiming the Medallion, and more in getting her. She was unsure, however, of whether the Vettoris just wanted her dead, or were demanding the pleasure of doing it themselves.

"Yeah, I got a message from Valeriya shortly before you came, asking me just what ridiculously stupid thing I'd done to piss them off," said Lena wryly.

Markellos chuckled. "Well, I, for one, am extremely appreciative of that 'ridiculously stupid thing'. Which I suppose brings us to the issue of the remainder of your payment." He bent over to the side and opened his suitcase. From within it, he pulled out a small bronze chest, and handed it to Lena. "I believe you should find the agreed upon amount for both your and Mr Lupin's fees inside."

Lena opened up the chest and studied the contents. Remus moved to stand behind Lena and peered over her shoulder at the piles of coins.

"That's more than an entire year of a Hogwarts' teacher's wage," he murmured.

Satisfied that Markellos had held up his end of the bargain, Lena closed the chest. "That all appears to be in order. Thank you."

"Then I believe that concludes our present business," said Markellos, smiling.

Lena nodded. "May I offer you anything to drink or eat before you leave?"

Markellos considered this for a moment. "A drink would do nicely. Non-alcoholic, of course," he added. "Best to have all my wits about me for this journey home."

"How about pumpkin juice?" offered Lena, standing up.

"Perfect."

As Lena fixed Markellos his drink, Remus told her, "I'm just popping to the bathroom." He pecked her on the cheek and nodded at Markellos, then left the kitchen.

It had just been the two of them in the house – until Markellos had arrived – since the previous afternoon, when Sârbu had come to pick up Koning. The departure of their captive had relieved both Lena and Remus, but had also discomforted the latter, the knowledge that the Dutch wizard was most likely off to meet his end clearly weighing on his mind. Lena had debated whether to address the issue with him again, and had decided against it, worried about the argument it might cause. Subsequently, the topics of Koning and Sârbu had not been mentioned again, and Lena was tentatively hoping things between her and Remus would return to normal, especially once they arrived back home at the Lestrange Estate the following night.

When Lena had filled a goblet with juice, she brought it back over to Markellos, and noticed that he was watching her unusually intently. He continued to study her as she took her seat again.

"Something wrong?" she inquired.

There was a pause, before Markellos told her, "I did bring with me something you might be interested in. As an alternative to the rest of your share of the fee, perhaps." He pulled out a thin, rectangular wooden case from his suitcase, and slid it across the table to her.

Lena raised an eyebrow, but undid the latch on the side of the case, and opened it. Inside was a bundle of parchment tied together. The sheet on top was blank except for one small drawing in its centre.

It was the symbol of the Orkístike.

Recoiling, her eyes snapped to Markellos, whose expression remained impassive as he sipped his pumpkin juice. As far as she knew, he wasn't aware that the Orb had ever come into her possession, but no doubt he remembered her fascination with Hecate from before it had.

Pursing her lips, she gingerly picked up the bundle and untied it. Laying the top sheet to one side, she carefully looked through the rest. The parchment was ancient, clearly held together by many preservation spells. They were full of writing, but in a language Lena didn't recognise, although it reminded her of Sinaitic script – which suggested it was at least three thousand years old.

"What am I looking at, Markellos?" she asked quietly, afraid of what her own instincts were telling her.

"A recount from Hecate's final days, as written by her acolyte and original founder of the Orkístike, Astris," he answered. "At least, that is what it is believed to be – it has never been translated."

Lena stared at him. "How did you get them?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential information," said Markellos smoothly. "But I have no use for them, other than as a priceless memento of one of the great sorceresses in my country's history. If you, however, maintain the same passionate interest for Hecate that you had as a child, I suspect you might be able to learn more from it." He tilted his head to the side, looking at her curiously. "What do you say?"

Shaking her head in disbelief, Lena told him, "Markellos, there are people who would literally _kill_ for this! The Orkístike, for example."

Markellos frowned. "The Orkístike haven't existed for a thousand years."

"That's what I thought," she replied. "But then I ran into a member last week."

"Really?" Markellos stroked his beard. "Well, that is... _intriguing_."

Lena looked down at the documents. "And you would just give it to me," she muttered.

"In lieu of the rest of your payment, yes," said Markellos. "But if you're not interested..."

Interested? Lena was _enthralled_. But there was also a loud, internal voice telling her to stuff the bundle of parchment back in its case, lock it up, and tell Markellos she refused to have it in the same vicinity of her ever again. She had spent the last seven years struggling to climb back up the rabbit hole of Hecate and the Orb – how could she even consider letting herself fall down it again? She had promised Dumbledore and Remus that she was done with the Orb; more than that, she had promised _herself_.

But these ancient documents held an untold wealth of magical knowledge. And the pursuit of that sort of knowledge was exactly what had driven Lena her entire life. It was _who_ she was.

At last, she looked back up at Markellos.

"I'll take them."

* * *

 _Friday 5 August, 1994:_

Lena sat at her desk in the second-floor study of the Lestrange house, staring at the shut wooden case that was sitting upon it. Her arms were folded, but her fingers relentlessly twitched.

Remus was still asleep in their bed, exhausted after all the travel of yesterday. She, on the other hand, had barely slept a wink. How could she, with the contents of the case occupying her mind so wholly – particularly, the question of whether to begin her attempt to translate them or not.

She had accepted the documents, yes. But as soon as Markellos had left, she had started to regret the choice. Because once again, she had a secret she could not bring herself to tell Remus.

' _You're being an idiot,'_ she told herself. ' _You've read more than enough stories to know that this sort of secret keeping, this failure to communicate properly, is a sure-fire way to destroy a relationship. Just tell him everything when he wakes up – the nightmares you keep having about Voldemort and Harry, your meeting with Theodora, taking these documents from Markellos.'_

 _'No!'_ cried a different, more distressed, internal voice. ' _That could ruin everything! He loves you because despite everything, you_ try _to be better, to be good. What if he thinks this is a step backwards? What if that makes him angry – or worse, disappointed? What if finding out that you've been lying to him breaks his trust in you?'_

 _'You can't keep these things a secret from him forever,'_ argued the more rational voice. ' _He will find out eventually – better to do it sooner than later, and to hear it from your own mouth rather than someone else's.'_

Lena suddenly leapt out of her chair, and began to agitatedly pace around the study, wringing her hands.

She had always kept secrets. That had been a large, intrinsic part of her identity, especially while at Hogwarts. Everybody had known her parents were convicted Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban, so when it came to divulging the information about her that she could control, she had been particular about who knew what. Even the people she was closest to didn't know everything – Harry was unaware of the Orb and how she had killed Irina, while Maggie and Rolf were in the dark about her childhood bond with Voldemort.

But with Remus, it was supposed to be different. They were _together_ , partners in life – they shouldn't have secrets, such _enormous_ secrets, between them.

Lena didn't _want_ to lie to Remus. She loved him with every bit of her heart, her head, her body, her soul. And he loved her so completely too, even the terrible parts. Nonetheless, surely someone as goodhearted Remus had a line he could not cross, a depth to which he would refuse to sink.

If Lena went there, that didn't mean he would stop loving her. But she knew all too well it was possible to both love and despise someone at the same time. And she couldn't bear the thought of Remus one day feeling the same way towards her that she did towards Voldemort.

Frustration was boiling over inside of Lena. Desperate to let some of it out, she unthinkingly lashed a fist out and punched the wall. Pain immediately shot through her hand. She cradled it, gazing at the bloody graze across the knuckles. Somehow, it restored at least a pretence of calmness in her mind.

She crossed back to her desk-chair, and slumped down into it. Closing her eyes, she let her head loll back.

' _I'm fucked either way,'_ she thought. ' _And I always will be. Because being fucked over by my own decisions_ – _more than pursuing knowledge, more than keeping secrets... that's who I am_."

* * *

 _Monday 8 August, 1994:_

"You're really sure about this?" Remus asked Lena, worried.

"It'll be fine," she promised. "I've double-checked the Estate's borders: there's nothing getting in or out tonight."

Instead of locking him in the house's basement for tonight's full moon, as Remus had been expecting, Lena had suggested that the wolf have free-reign to traverse the Estate's expansive grounds. She was hoping that his alter-ego might be less angry with him if it felt less caged.

"All right," said Remus, "but I'm not agreeing to you being outside with me. That's just ridiculous."

" _Ugh_." Lena rolled her eyes. " _You're_ being ridiculous. Moony isn't going to hurt me."

"Moony?" Remus raised his eyebrows. "You're giving my nickname to that monster?"

Lena shrugged. "It doesn't seem right to just keep referring to him as 'the wolf'. And I think it's cute."

" _Cute_? Lena, he's a murderous beast!"

"That also happens to be adorable and like a good ear-rub." Before Remus could protest this, Lena slipped her arms around his middle, and looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Please, darling, let me just try to be with you tonight. If it turns out that Moony's response to me two months ago was just a freak incident, I'll remove myself to the house and stay there the rest of the night." She slightly cocked her head. "Or do you think I can't handle myself?"

"Of course you can look after yourself," said Remus quickly, wrapping his arms around her too. "I just hate the idea of there being even a one percent chance that I could bite you."

"Why? Do you think Moony wouldn't consider me a sexy enough wolf-mate for him? I'm kidding," she hastily amended, upon Remus' glare. "I understand how serious lycanthropy is, I do. And I know you'd never forgive yourself if you passed it on to me – even if I would. But I swear, Remus, I won't let that happen tonight."

Remus looked down at her, and his heart fluttered in the most inconvenient way at the expression of adoration on her face. He sighed, then bent his head down to rest his forehead against hers. Closing his eyes, he murmured, "Why do you always have to make it so impossible to say no to you?"

* * *

Three hours later, the moon rose, and Lena watched as Remus' body twisted and contorted – clenching her fists as he howled in pain – until it finally formed the shape of a werewolf.

They were in the entrance hall, Lena standing near the door so she was ready to let Moony, as she now thought of him, outside. She held her breath as he turned around and saw her. For about five seconds, he stood absolutely still, just staring at her. Then he gave a little whine and leapt towards her. He stood on his hind legs, and his forepaws fell onto Lena, just below her shoulders. The weight of them pushed her back against the door, and he proceeded to attempt to lick her chin.

Delighted as she was that Moony recognised her, she pushed him off her. "Sorry, dear," she told him, smiling, "but you're not getting any kisses when you're a giant furball. Now," she opened the door, "out we go."

Apparently, the fresh air and wide open space was more tempting to Moony than the taste of Lena's face, because he immediately bounded outside. Shutting the door behind her, Lena fondly watched the werewolf scamper off to explore the grounds, and followed him at a much slower pace.

For ten or so minutes, Moony was happy simply to investigate his new surroundings. But eventually he reached the front gate of the Estate. He sniffed the air, and let out a low growl. He urgently pawed at the bottom of the gate, and growled again when he was met with its resistance. He looked back at Lena pointedly, and she shook her head. Moony whined pitifully and pawed at the gate again.

Sighing, Lena dropped to her knee beside him, and stroked his back. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know you want to hunt. But I can't let you."

Moony stared at her, his amber eyes beseeching, and whimpered.

Lena reached out and took his large head in her hands, gazing back at him sadly. "I can't let you hurt anyone, Moony," she whispered. "Remus would never forgive me."

At the mention of his human self's name, Moony's lips curled into a snarl and he jerked his head out of Lena's grasp. He took a few steps back, growling. Then, quite suddenly, he raised one paw and swiped his claws across his face.

"No!" cried Lena, anguished. She rushed towards him, but he retreated from her again. When he was about a hundred feet from her, he sat down and howled. The sound, so miserable and angry, sent a sharp pain through Lena.

She tried to approach him once more, but Moody stood up, poised to run off again. The two of them locked eyes.

After ten or so seconds, Lena's shoulders slumped. "You poor thing," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." Then she turned around and walked back to the house. She sat down on the doorstep, putting her head in her hands.

Remus treated his lycanthropy as a disease and hated the creature he became because all Moony wanted to do was hunt down and attack humans. That was his entire nature, his every instinct.

Or at least, it was supposed to be. But that full moon two months ago, when the wolf had first ran away from Lena and later tried to save her life, had proved he was capable of more. She had hoped that tonight she would be able to discover the full extent of just what Moony could become, but with the exception of his affection for her, he seemed to have reverted completely back to the monster that Remus detested.

* * *

The wolf sat about fifty metres away from the female human, watching her. Her face was covered by her hands, but he could clearly sense her emotion: _upset_. With him.

This agitated the wolf. He had been furious when he'd woken up last time and discovered that she wasn't there. She _had been_ there, he knew. Traces of her unmistakable scent had lingered, most strongly on his own body – something that had confused him terribly at first. Then he'd understood.

His stupid _human_ self had mated with her.

That had infuriated him. _She_ , the predator of predators, his protector, this strange and wonderful creature whose touch he craved, had deemed that weak, pathetic, _awful_ human was fit to be _hers_.

The wolf thought of how his human self would wake to find another scar on his face, and felt pleased.

 _'Serves him right_.'

His pleasure was short-lived, however. _Her_ body had started to tremble, her desolation intensifying. He pawed at the ground unhappily. He hated the idea that he was the cause of her misery.

As soon as he had seen her tonight, his anger at her for not being there last time had disappeared, instead overcome by joy. The way she smiled at him, spoke to him so sweetly (even if he couldn't understand a word she was saying), her distinctive scent – oh, he _loved_ that scent. He wanted to roll around in the smell, be covered by it.

But he had made her sad. He hadn't really understood what 'sad' was until he met her – or rather, when she hadn't been there when he wanted. The sound she had made when he scratched his face was like the way he had felt then.

' _She shouldn't have mentioned_ his _name,'_ thought the wolf crossly. _Remus_. It was only recently that he had learned that was the name of his two-legged counterpart, and he _hated_ it.

But his fury at her using it had all but disappeared now. Her present unhappiness was much worse. So he stood up, and trotted over to her.

She didn't appear to notice his approach, her face still in her hands. Reaching her, he sat down and whined quietly. This, at last, made her look up, and he noticed that something wet was sliding down her cheek. Curious, he leant forward and licked it. She drew back her face, looking surprised, and said something to him. One of the words was something she'd said before, which he'd never heard until then.

It sounded like _Moony_.

She wiped her cheek with a hand, and finally smiled. He could still sense that she was upset, but less so than before. Unsure of what else to do, he bowed his head and nuzzled it against her leg. In response, he felt her fingers tangle themselves in the fur on his neck. She said something to him again, finishing with that same word. He looked up at her, questioningly. Why did she keep saying it?

She stroked his muzzle, and tried to brush away the thin trail of blood leaking from the scratch. She shook her head slightly as she did this. She murmured words – including, once again, _Moony._

And at last, he understood. _He_ was Moony.

* * *

Moony spent the rest of the night either sitting next to Lena or pacing about in front of her. She could tell he was still dissatisfied by his incarceration, but she was relieved that he didn't try to hurt himself again.

An hour before sunrise, Lena was struggling to keep her eyes open, and Moony also seemed ready to sleep. Suspecting that Remus would probably prefer to transform back into his human body inside, she opened the door and ushered in the tired werewolf. Moony slunk into the corner of the entrance hall and lay down.

Lena Summoned a blanket. She lay it over him and scratched his head, smiling. "Good night, darling," she whispered.

She left the entrance hall and went upstairs to their bedroom. Mortimer was sleeping on her bedside table, so she did her best not to disturb him as she crawled into bed. However, just as she was almost asleep, she was roused by the sound of soft footfalls coming down the corridor.

Sitting up, she could just make out the shape of Moony standing in the doorway. He let out a little whine.

Just as Lena was about to get up, the wolf trotted over to the bed, and leapt up onto it.

"Moony!" she scolded in a whisper, but he ignored her, lying down and curling up on Remus' side of the bed.

Despite herself, Lena chuckled softly. Remus would probably be horrified at the thought of her sleeping beside the wolf in their bed, and Lena suspected Moony knew that, and it was half the reason why he was doing it.

"You're a cheeky bastard," she muttered. "And I adore you all the more for it." She bent down and pressed a light kiss to Moony's nose, and was rewarded with his throaty, purring noise. Then she pulled the bedcovers back up and finally fell asleep, her love by her side.

* * *

The once-again-human Remus was still fast asleep when Lena woke up. For a minute, she was unable to tear her eyes away from him. The scratch Moony had inflicted on his face was still present, but she couldn't imagine it would leave much of a permanent scar. Then again, who – other than herself – would really notice another mark on the scarred and lined face?

Eventually, she got up and went down to the kitchen. As she made her tea, her thoughts kept drifting back to Moony – in particular, how excited he had been when he'd realised he wasn't locked up in a basement, and how disappointed he was when he'd figured out that he was still imprisoned, just in a larger space than usual.

He was a predator, and humans were his natural prey. But he wasn't allowed to hunt. He had never been. He was always forced to deny his own nature.

' _No wonder he hurts himself_ ,' thought Lena sadly. ' _He must feel there's something wrong with him._ '

Subconsciously, she glanced down at the knuckles on her right hand. The grazes had healed over the past three days, but there were moments when Lena had felt like making new ones.

She still hadn't opened the documents' case. She'd been very close, _so close_ , to doing it on several occasions, but then the image of Irina's dead body would flash through her mind, closely followed by her nightmares of doing the same thing to Voldemort and Harry, and she would try to distance herself as far from the case as she could.

But after her night with Moony, the urge to begin her attempt to translate them had started to fill her again. She was yearning to know their contents, to discover and learn...

Lena's train of thought was interrupted by a sudden tingling sensation in her arm – a sign that something had run into the invisible barrier surrounding the Estate. Taking her mug of tea with her, she made her way outside and scanned the perimeter.

It was an owl, who was gradually becoming more bewildered and aggravated that its way was being blocked by an unseen assailant. Lena quickly removed the top layer of the barrier, and the owl zoomed inside, making a beeline for Lena, who quickly held her arm out for it. She winced as it landed and dug its claws into her forearm that was only protected by a thin cardigan. Lena hastily took the letter it was delivering, and the owl took flight once more. But instead of leaving, it flew up to the roof of the house and perched itself on the edge. Evidently, it was expected that she would send a reply.

Lena took the letter back inside to the kitchen. Putting her mug on the table, she opened the envelope and read the message inside.

It was from Hedda Nygård and, like Markellos, she was offering Lena a job. This one involved a baby Manticore, some enchanted teaspoons, and a disgruntled second cousin of Hedda's. It also required Lena leaving for Norway the next morning.

' _Well, the translation is definitely going to have to wait now,_ ' she thought. And at the moment, she honestly didn't know which was greater: her relief, or her disappointment.

* * *

 _Tuesday 23 August, 1994:_

"Come on," muttered Remus. "Come on, come on... yes!"

The inside of his steak was the perfect shade of pink.

He cut off a piece, stabbed it with his fork, and was unable to hold back a small noise of pleasure as he chewed the meat. It was delicious – as it should have been, considering the amount of time he had spent working on his culinary skills over the last two weeks. There hadn't been much else to do in Lena's absence.

She was supposed to return from Norway the following afternoon. The thought of seeing her again made Remus smile. Without her, two weeks had felt like two years. He hadn't been alone in the house, of course, but the company of Mortimer the bowtruckle wasn't quite as exciting – or satisfying – as Lena's.

After she had received the letter from Hedda Nygård, they had decided that as Remus was still recovering from the transformation, she would undertake the job herself. Remus, however, suspected that part of her reluctance towards the idea of him coming with her was that she was worried about bringing him back over to the continent while the Vettori family was still out for their blood. Of course, Remus was concerned for her safety too, but he knew she was much more capable of handling herself against them than he was. If anything, he was more afraid that if she did run into any of them, they wouldn't escape with their life intact this time.

Remus was almost halfway through his dinner when, to his surprise, he heard the sound of the door opening. Just as he was grabbing his wand, he heard Lena's voice call out, "Remus?"

He ran to the entrance hall. Upon seeing Lena there, Banishing her suitcase to their bedroom, he practically leapt at her and gave her a thorough snogging, to which she eagerly responded.

After a minute, their mouths finally parted, and they gazed at each other, breathing heavily.

"I thought you wouldn't be back until tomorrow," said Remus, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"I finished the job early," she replied, "and decided I didn't want to wait a whole extra eighteen hours to see you." She ran her hands slowly down his sides, and smiled. "Did you miss me?"

Remus answered by kissing her again and pushing her into the nearest wall. One of her hands ran up the back of his neck and grabbed a fistful of his hair. He started to pull off the leather jacket she was wearing. Just as he was sliding it off her shoulders, Lena tugged his head back, breaking the kiss.

She was grinning. "I'll take that as a 'yes', then," she whispered.

"The most definite of yeses," he affirmed, still pulling at her jacket.

Lena took a small step away from the wall, allowing the jacket to come off more easily. Once if it was off, she removed her hand from Remus' hair and leant back against the wall. Hooking two fingers around the waistband of his trousers, she pulled him to her so their bodies were pressed together.

Remus dropped his lips down to Lena's jaw, and slowly brushed them upwards until he reached her earlobe. As he tongue darted out to touch it, Lena gave his buttocks a firm squeeze, inducing a small moan from him.

She turned her head slightly, so she could whisper in his ear, "I'm hungry."

He shivered, and a throbbing began in his groin. "Good," he murmured, his teeth scraping against her ear, "because, I'm _starving._ "

* * *

They had only made it as far as the first-floor drawing room, and even then they had fallen short of the sofa. Remus, still too lightheaded to get up from the floor, watched as Lena stood, pulling her dark jeans back up.

"Well," she said, doing up the zip, "now we've sorted _that_ out, is there anything to eat?"

Remus blinked. He had completely forgotten his half-eaten dinner. "I cooked some steak," he told her, sitting up and reaching for his pants that were still around his ankles.

Lena, who had been searching for her shirt, paused, looking at Remus with an arched eyebrow. "Is the steak brown the whole way through?"

"No."

"Then it isn't cooked."

Remus rolled his eyes, and finished doing up his fly. He had learnt that Lena considered any meat that was less than almost-burnt undercooked. "You're welcome to turn it into charcoal, if that's what you prefer."

Lena responded with a haughty sniff, then asked, "Any idea where my shirt is?"

"I think you lost it somewhere along the hallway."

She retrieved her shirt, and once they were both dressed again, they made their way to the kitchen. As he reheated his dinner, and Lena made the necessary adjustments to her own, she noticed the morning's _Daily Prophet_ folded up on the bench, and went over to pick it up.

"I don't suppose there's anything interesting in here."

Remus froze. Caught up in his joy at being reunited with her, he had completely forgotten the reported events following the previous night's Quidditch World Cup final.

"Actually, love," he began to say, "there's something–"

He broke off as Lena unfolded the newspaper and saw the front page. She went rigid as her eyes locked onto the image of the Dark Mark in the sky.

For a long moment, she stared at it in silence. Then she looked up at Remus.

He quickly crossed over to her. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said. "According to the report, it was just the drunken antics of a group following the match–"

"Antics?" interrupted Lena quietly. "It's the fucking _Dark Mark_ , Remus. Only Death Eaters know how to cast it." Her eyes scanned the rest of the front page story.

"You know better than anyone that there were Death Eaters who escaped justice," Remus tried to reason with her. "And while they might still be blood supremacists, it doesn't mean that they have any intention of starting the War again."

Having finished reading the story, Lena threw the _Daily Prophet_ back down on the bench, and returned her gaze to Remus. "You don't get it," she said. "To be branded with the Dark Mark was to give yourself entirely to Voldemort and his cause. It was supposed to be a symbol of complete loyalty, of unshakeable belief. That's why they sent it up for all to see when they killed. And to people like Lucius, like Walden Macnair, who did everything they could to distance themselves from Voldemort when he fell, it is a reminder that their fellow Death Eaters who went to prison for their fealty would consider their freedom a betrayal, and would probably like to see them dead. They're the people who – as much as they are still blood purists – want Voldemort to be dead. Even at their most drunken, they're not going to cast the Dark Mark into the sky."

Remus scratched his head. "I don't understand," he admitted. "You're saying that the only people who _could_ and _would_ cast the Dark Mark are locked up in Azkaban – which means there was no way they could have done it."

"Exactly," replied Lena, her expression grave. "You were right, Remus. This isn't _as_ bad as it looks – it's _worse_.

* * *

It was clear to Remus, over the next few days, that Lena had been deeply disturbed by the appearance of the Dark Mark. However, she was reluctant to say anything more on the subject to him, and almost immediately began to search for tasks to distract herself – an endeavour with which her childhood acquaintances were more than happy to help her.

Evidently, Markellos and Hedda were pleased enough with the jobs Lena had done for them to recommend her services to their friends. Consequently, Lena was provided with almost constant employment for the next nine weeks, the various jobs taking her all across Europe. Sometimes Remus went with her, other times he stayed at the Estate, particularly if the night of the full moon was approaching, or had just occurred. On the actual night of his transformation, however, Lena made sure to be with him, to provide 'Moony' with her companionship – something Remus knew the wolf enjoyed very much. _Too much_ , if Remus were to be honest about how he felt. But he suspected that Lena would tease him if she thought he was jealous of his own 'furry little problem', so he didn't tell her.

When he was on jobs with Lena, there were a couple of near run-ins with the Vettori family or their associates, but Lena always managed to get them out before a confrontation could be had. Remus was just relieved that the Koning family didn't appear to be aware of Lena's involvement in Bram's disappearance. One vengeful and powerful family who wanted them dead was enough, in his opinion.

On the rare occasions that both he and Lena were home, they'd sometimes visit Maggie, at her place in Pembrokeshire. A couple of times she was in the company of her boyfriend, Oliver Wood. For Remus, at first it was a little strange to be making social calls to people who had been his students just a few months ago. But he gradually got used to it, even if such visits did make him long for the company of his own best friend.

He knew, through Lena, that Harry had been in regular contact with Sirius through letters. It was safe – the Auror department would never believe that the boy who they'd thought Sirius had been trying to kill would be keeping the wanted serial killer up-to-date about all that was going on in his life. The same could not be said for Remus – and Lena, to a certain degree. After his resignation, it had taken less than a day for an Auror to turn up at the shack and thoroughly question Remus about any contact he might have had with Sirius. It had been heavily implied to him that his status as a werewolf meant the Ministry was more than willing to believe he was an associate of the escaped convict, and that if he gave them any reason to think he was even attempting to contact his old friend, he would be hauled off for more questioning.

So Remus had to make do with companions who were at least fifteen years his junior, and the frequent feeling of being the 'old man' in the room. It was a nice change when Lena once took him with her to Newt Scamander's for lunch, even if he had been a little awestruck by the famous Magizoologist.

As the weeks passed, Lena seemed to move on from her distraction over the Dark Mark – although there was the odd occasion that she came out of her study looking... well, _perturbed_. But on the whole, things appeared to be going back to normal; or at least, _their_ normal.

That was until the day after Halloween.

* * *

 _Tuesday 1 November, 1994:_

 _Dear Lena,_

 _I don't know whether you've heard by now, but if you haven't: last night, my name came out of the Goblet of Fire, and I was named the fourth Triwizard Champion._

 _To be clear, I did NOT put my name in the Goblet, and I definitely didn't ask anyone else to – even though everybody thinks I did (including Ron, who's being an absolute git about the whole thing). Apparently, people think I_ _like_ _putting myself in potentially fatal situations, and wouldn't want a school year where my biggest concerns are my exams. According to Snape, I've been 'determined to break rules' and 'cross lines' ever since I came to Hogwarts. Prick._

 _Anyway, I have no idea who put in my name. As to why, all I can guess is that someone's hoping I'll get killed in the tournament – which doesn't really do anything to narrow down the 'who'. Do you have any ideas?_

 _I don't know what the First Task is, and we won't know until we're doing it. So if you think there are any gaps in my education that should be filled ASAP, I'd appreciate the help._

 _Hope you and Lupin are well._

 _Harry_

 _P.S. I've also written to Padfoot about this. I just hope he doesn't do anything stupid._

"Fuck," muttered Lena, after she'd finished reading the letter. She looked up at Remus, who was watching her from the other side of the kitchen table. They'd been eating dinner when the letter arrived.

At Remus' questioning look, Lena handed him the letter. His frown grew as he read it. At the end, he looked back up at Lena. "They're making him compete?"

"It appears so," she replied, drawing one leg up onto her chair. "I guess the Goblet's magic is binding."

Remus chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, then slowly said, "Igor Karkaroff is headmaster of Durmstrang now, isn't he?"

Lena raised an eyebrow. "You think because he was a Death Eater he would try to kill Harry?"

"I'd say it's fair to be suspicious," said Remus.

"I wouldn't," remarked Lena. "He made a deal to trade others names for his own freedom. I think it's safe to say that he has many more enemies than friends among the Death Eaters now."

Remus considered this. "It could be a way to get back in their good books, if he arranged Harry's death. If he thinks Voldemort is returning, he might consider that his safest bet."

Lena tilted her head to the side. "By that logic, you'd have to suspect that Snape is equally likely to be the culprit, as a known traitor to his fellow Death Eaters."

"Dumbledore trusts Snape," said Remus firmly.

"And Snape _hates_ Harry," countered Lena. "Even more now, Harry thinks, after what went down between you, Sirius and him in June." When Remus opened his mouth to protest, Lena cut him off. "I'm not saying I think it's Snape who put Harry's name in the Goblet – in fact, I'm willing to bet that it's definitely not. All I'm saying is that if you're looking suspects, the Death Eaters who very publicly avoided Azkaban are the wrong place to start that search."

"Well, perhaps now that Alastor Moody is at Hogwarts, he might be able to find out who's responsible," suggested Remus. "After all, finding Dark Wizards was his job for over forty years."

Lena recalled a previous letter Harry had sent to her, and couldn't hold back a smirk. "Did I tell you that Harry said Moody turned little Malfoy into a ferret to punish him for trying to attack Harry from behind? Merlin, I wish I'd been there to see it."

Remus looked at her curiously. "Is there a particular reason you dislike your cousin so much? Other than, you know, his–"

"Being an entitled, bullying, blood purist prat?"said Lena wryly. "Well, I suppose there might be some lingering resentment from my childhood over the fact that his parents actually liked him." A question she'd been meaning to ask for a while spilled out of her mouth. "Why did Snape hate you all so much?"

Remus blinked, clearly surprised by this.

"I mean," continued Lena, "you told me about Sirius tricking him into almost being attacked by you, and James saving his life, but it sounds like you hated each other long before that."

Remus shrugged. "Snape was a Slytherin kid who was really into the Dark Arts. And we were Gryffindors who hated them. There was something of an instantaneous mutual loathing." When Lena gave him a sceptical look, he explained, "What you have to remember is that as bad as the animosity between Slytherin and the other houses is now, it was far worse during the War. Students' parents and family members were dying on both sides, killed by each other. And there were many Slytherin students who did little to disguise it was their intention to join the Death Eaters once they graduated."

"And Snape was one of those?"

"Eventually," replied Remus, after a moment's hesitation. "Definitely by the time Sirius decided it would be funny if Snape had an encounter with me during a full moon."

But Lena knew there was something she was still missing, and shook her head. "No, there's something more personal," she said, drawing up her other leg, and hugging her knees. "What you're talking about is too general – not something strong enough that you would _despise_ their child on sight, like Snape did with Harry."

Remus sighed. "It's not something that can really be explained, Lena," he told her. "From the moment they set eyes on each other, James couldn't stand Snape, who in return detested him. They were just the antithesis of each other. And when James' crush on Lily became more obvious, that only made Snape hate him more."

"Lily?" said Lena sharply. "Why would that matter to Snape?"

"Because Lily and Snape were friends before they came to Hogwarts. They lived near each other, and despite being Sorted into opposing houses, they were pretty much inseparable for the first couple of years."

That was unexpected information. "And then?" demanded Lena.

"I guess they drifted apart," replied Remus. "I imagine Lily being a Muggle-born had something to do with it. Then there was an incident in Fifth Year, and I don't think they ever spoke again."

"What sort of incident?"

To her surprise, Remus' expression became guilty. "James and Sirius," he began, looking down at his lap, "had Snape in something of a, erm, compromising position. Lily tried to help Snape, but he rejected the offer, calling her a Mudblood. You know," he added, after a moment's reflection, "I can't actually think of another moment where I saw Lily so furious."

Lena barely heard Remus' last comment. She had been distracted by something she had once said to Snape floating into her mind.

 _'But what I really want to know, Severus, is what does Dumbledore have on you... Tell me that, because I've been trying to figure it out for the last four years, and it has to be something_ really _good.'_

"Oh, shit," breathed Lena, as she finally understood.

Severus Snape had been in love with Harry's mother.

* * *

 _Saturday 19 November, 1994:_

"I really don't think we're supposed to go this far out of Hogsmeade," muttered Hermione, as she and Harry – who was still under the Invisibility Cloak – climbed over the stile at the end of the outermost lane of the Wizarding Village.

"Lena thought it would be best to meet in complete privacy, considering all the scrutiny I've been under the last few weeks," explained Harry, as they headed in the direction of small thicket at the foot of the mountain. Now that they were out of sight from anyone else, Harry removed the Cloak.

They'd just left the Three Broomsticks, where Moody had seen through the Invisibility Cloak, and Hagrid had told Harry to meet him at midnight outside his cabin – bringing up Harry's total of intended clandestine meetings for the day up to three.

After Harry had written to Lena about his name coming out of the Goblet of Fire, she had sent a message to meet her at this place his next Hogsmeade weekend (as well as a list of spells for him to practise). Lupin would have come too, but it had been a full moon the previous night, and he was still recovering.

When they were about fifty metres away from the thicket of trees, Harry stopped Hermione. "Before we see Lena," he told her, "I need you to promise me that at no point will you mention the dream I had about Voldemort over the summer."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Why? Haven't you told her?"

"No," replied Harry forcefully. "And I'm not going to." He took a deep breath. "Remember what I told you about Lena knowing Voldemort when she was a child?"

"Yes," said Hermione slowly, sounding slightly suspicious.

"Well," said Harry carefully, "they had quite a... _close_ relationship. Obviously, her feelings about him have changed," he added hastily, upon seeing disgust creep over Hermione's face, "but there's still quite a bit of... _intensity_ to them."

This seemed to confuse Hermione. "Are you saying she loved him when she was little, but now she hates him?"

Harry hesitated. Finally, he answered, "It's, er, slightly more complicated than that. What I'm trying to say is that it's a bad idea to let her know that he might be back in Britain, because then she might go looking for him."

Hermione frowned. "But wouldn't it be good to find out where he is? Or at least figure out if he really is planning something?"

"Not if it's Lena," replied Harry firmly. "She can't be the one to find him, Hermione. That could be _catastrophic_. So promise me you won't tell her about the dream."

Hermione looked reluctant. "Harry–"

" _Promise me_ , Hermione!"

"All right," she said, alarmed at his sudden fervour, "I promise."

Harry let out a long breath. "Okay." He gave Hermione a small smile, and started walking towards the thicket again. After a few seconds, Hermione followed, and Harry could see out of the corner of his eye that she was still anxious.

They reached the thicket and struggled through the twisty, low-hanging branches until they reached the centre, where there was a small clearing. There Lena was sitting, with her legs outstretched, on a picnic blanket. Upon seeing Harry and Hermione, she stood up, grinning.

"Hello, you two."

It had been over four months since Harry had seen her, and in that moment, he realised just how much he missed having her around at Hogwarts. So he quickly closed the short distance between them and hugged her fiercely. If this display of affection surprised Lena, she didn't show it, returning the hug with equal warmth.

"Rough few weeks?" she murmured.

A small lump formed in Harry's throat. "Yeah," he choked out, letting go of her and stepping back. "Something like that."

Lena gestured for him and Hermione to sit down on the blanket with her. "I'd be more than happy to pay Rita Skeeter a visit, if you like," she offered. "I could, erm, _suggest_ to her that her reporting could do with a little more fact-checking."

"I'll keep it in mind," said Harry, half-smiling.

"And how are you, Hermione ?" inquired Lena. "Harry mentioned you don't have the Time-Turner anymore."

"It's no longer a necessity, now that I've dropped both Divination and Muggle Studies," explained Hermione.

"That's a shame," remarked Lena. "I imagine it's something that would frequently come in handy."

"Yes," admitted Hermione, "but it's certainly nice not to have to be constantly worried about breaking the rules of time travel."

"What about you, Lena?" asked Harry. "You haven't mentioned much in your letters about what you've been up to since graduating."

Lena made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, the usual – travelling, working, breaking -and-entering, a spot of kidnap, pissing off some of the most powerful Wizarding families in Europe."

Harry snorted, while Hermione looked half-amused, half-horrified.

"And how about Lupin?" he questioned.

"He's not your teacher anymore, Harry," Lena reminded him. "You can call him Remus. As to what he's been doing..." She considered this for a moment. "Much the same as me, I suppose. Oh!" She appeared to remember something. "He's grown a moustache."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "What sort of moustache?" he asked, imagining Lupin first with one of the big, bushy variety that was popular in the Westerns that Dudley had watched as a child, and then one with the ends that curled around.

"It's quite thin, with a bit of a gap here," said Lena, pointing at the small indent between her nose and top lip. "I'm still not quite sure how I feel about it."

"How was his transformation last night?" asked Hermione.

"It was pretty good," answered Lena. "He didn't try to hurt himself at all, so that was nice." There was fondness in her expression as she added, "He's really quite adorable – if you don't count the whole wanting-to-attack-humans thing."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a dubious look.

"I mean, that is quite a big 'thing' to try to forget," Harry pointed out.

Lena sighed. "He can't help it, Harry," she said. "It's just his nature. It's not like he's actually malicious or anything."

Harry still wasn't quite sure about his, but he supposed that Lena knew best.

"So," said Lena, "have you been practising that list of spells I sent you?"

He nodded. "Hermione's been helping me."

Lena smiled brightly. "Excellent. Well–" she stood up, "–let's see what you can do."

Harry copied her, also smiling. It was just so bloody good to see her again.

* * *

 **Fun fact: I'm uploading this on what would have been Remus' 59th birthday.**

 **So, any thoughts? Questions? Criticisms? Theories? You know that I love to hear them :)**

 **A few responses to reviews:**

 **Laurafxox: I'm so glad to hear you enjoyed the lore I've introduced, because I know some probably find it off-putting. Jealous-Lupin is both fun and very interesting for me to write, so I'm also happy you liked that :)**

 **Iris Quincy Rosewood: Good to hear that you like the complexity :) In answer to your question: Lena and Harry's paths will cross (as seen in this chapter), but on the whole, their trajectories are going to be quite different throughout GoF. Hope that sounds okay!**

 **Einklley: Once again, I enjoyed reading your predictions/hopes for where this story is heading (and of course, I can neither confirm nor deny it). In regards to Lena's name: honestly, I didn't spend much time thinking about it. She just sort of formed in my mind one day - appearance, name and all. I guess I just didn't want her to be a 'Black' so much as a 'Lestrange', and they don't have the same theme for their given games. Also, 'Lena' means (or is derived from) 'light' in several languages, and I kind of like the juxtaposition of that with a character who is so entrenched in 'Darkness'.**

 **Mika: Glad you like the merging with Greek mythology. Yes, the Orb and Medallion aren't based on anything. And I agree, the action parts were rushed - I'm still struggling to figure out how to do them properly, so please bear with me :) As you saw in this chapter, there will be an occasional letter (and meeting) between Harry and Lena, but there won't be a lot of it during the GoF, as they do have quite separate storylines. Maggie also won't be playing a major role in this section of the story, but she will pop up again (and soon).**

 **RyuuFuyuScarlet: The idea of doing oneshots had briefly crossed my mind, but probably won't happen - only because there's so much of the actual story I have left to write, and I don't really have the time to write extra (at least at present). I have to be quite disciplined with writing this, otherwise I'd never finish it. Sorry!**

 **Well, thank you for reading! Cheers til next time :D**


	38. Love is Merely a Madness

**Apologies for this very slow update! This is one of the longest chapters yet, if that helps.**

 **A big thank you to all the reviewers of the last chapter, and a warm welcome to any new readers :) Here's hoping you enjoy this latest instalment!**

 **10 house-points to anyone who knows what this chapter's title is a reference to :)**

* * *

Lena's nineteenth birthday was a small affair. Maggie and Oliver came to the Lestrange Estate for dinner with her and Remus, and afterwards they drank wine and ate chocolates while they discussed the Triwizard Tournament and their plans for Christmas.

Two days later, Lena left for the continent – alone, as Remus' transformation was fast approaching – to do a job for Madam Zawadzka, a friend of Hedda's. The task was to obtain two pints of Swooping Evil venom without paying a small fortune. After a few days of investigation, Lena found her best bet: a man named Ossani. A deal was struck, and a week-and-a-half after she'd left England, she was ready to make the agreed-upon transaction.

The meeting place was in Rome, a Muggle bar down the road from the Villa Medici. As Lena entered the establishment, her eyes darted around the place, wary of any associates of the Vettori family. It was highly unlikely that any of them would be in a Muggle bar, but nobody made it in this line of work by being an optimist.

She spotted Ossani sitting at a booth in the far corner, his fingers nervously tapping on the table. She suspected he wasn't used to doing business in Muggle establishments. Lena, on the other hand, preferred to meet in places populated by the non-magical. It made it easier to tell if a contact had any associates observing their interaction – and it also meant they were less likely to resort to magic if things weren't going their way.

"Ossani," she greeted him, reaching the booth.

He jerked his head in a nod, his eyes closely following her as she slid into the seat opposite him. "Lestrange. You have the file?"

"If you've got the venom."

Ossani picked up a small case that was beside him on the booth seat. He looked around furtively. Apparently content that nobody was watching them, he flicked the lid open, and Lena looked inside. As agreed, there were two pint-sized bottles of Swooping Evil venom.

Lena opened her bag and pulled out the file Ossani had requested in exchange. "Here you go," she said, handing it to him. "It details all the evidence the Aurors have against your brother, and their possible leads as to where he might be."

Ossani didn't even try to hide his eagerness as he took the file from her. He quickly opened the folder, his eyes scanning through its contents.

She had 'obtained' the file from the Italian Auror department's office the previous day – not that they were aware of that.

"If you're going to contact him, I suggest you do it sooner rather than later," Lena warned him. "The copy I made isn't going to last for much longer."

Ossani glanced up at her, then slowly nodded. "Yes," he muttered, pulling out a pocket watch from inside his coat. He flicked it open and read it, his finger anxiously tapping against the face. Then he shut it, and pushed the case containing the bottles of venom over to Lena. Picking up the file, he abruptly stood up. "I believe that concludes our business," he said, giving her another sharp nod. As he did, his eyes darted to the bar's entrance.

Lena, who was putting the case in her bag, paused. Her eyes narrowed at Ossani. Something was wrong. _'The pocket watch,_ ' she realised. ' _It wasn't a timepiece. It was a communication device._ '

But it wasn't his brother with whom he'd been communicating. As Ossani passed her, Lena looked back to the entrance, and clenched her fists when she was who was coming inside – two of Arsenio Vettori's hired thugs.

It had been a set-up. Lena could have smacked herself in the face for not realising that sooner. But there wasn't time to be angry with herself. In this kind of Muggle setting, she was restricted in what magic she could use, and there wasn't a chance in hell she could physically overpower these goons.

She needed a distraction, and an opportunity immediately presented itself as she noticed a man walking through the bar with two full drinks in his hands. Just as he was passing a table full of rowdy men who were clearly exceptionally drunk, Lena flicked a hand in his direction, and the man suddenly crashed into the table.

A brawl immediately broke out, and within a few seconds, the entire bar was in pandemonium. Lena stood up and spotted Ossani. His attempt to exit had been blocked by the fighting. Seeing the file in his hands, Lena made a crushing motion with one hand, and the file suddenly crumbled to dust, eliciting a cry of rage from the treacherous man.

Vettori's thugs had barely made it two feet from the entrance when the chaos had begun. Satisfied their view of her had been blocked, Lena quickly made her way to the back of the bar, and down the little hallway that led to the bathrooms. She had been hoping that it would be empty, giving her the opportunity to Apparate away, but a young couple sucking each others' faces off prevented her from doing so. The ladies' bathroom was no better, occupied by half a dozen twenty-somethings chatting and retouching their makeup.

Lena returned to the bar's main room. She was trying to get to the storeroom when a large, meaty hand clamped around her upper arm. Instinctively, she raised a hand to wandlessly blast him away, but noticed that unfortunately, the brawl appeared to have run its course. It was too risky to use magic now.

The thug who was holding Lena grinned nastily. "Il capo vuole una parola con te," he told her. _The boss wants a word with you._

The other man wrenched Lena's bag off her shoulder, and together they marched her out of the bar and into the alleyway beside it, where Arsenio Vettori was waiting.

It was the first time Lena had come face-to-face with the eldest Vettori son. He wasn't as big as Renzo, but it looked like Arsenio was the one who had been given the brains.

He smirked upon seeing her. "Lena Lestrange, how _wonderful_ it is to finally meet you," he drawled. He looked at his henchmen either side of her. "Hai la sua bacchetta?" he barked at them.

The man who had first grabbed Lena hastily patted down her pockets. After a short search, he discovered her wand in her sleeve and pulled it out, handing it over to Arsenio.

"È ora di andare, credo," he told them, and the thug gripped Lena tighter.

They were about to Disapparate with her, and to Merlin knew where.

' _Probably somewhere even harder to get away from_ ,' thought Lena. Once again, she had to act quickly – and this time, successfully.

Lena snapped her head back, and with a loud _thwack_ , it connected with the nose of the thug on her right. He swore loudly, letting go of her arm in shock. As soon as her arm was free, Lena made a violent pushing motion with her hand, and the thug on her other side flew back and crashed into the wall. As he was flying through the air, Lena recalled her bag from his hands.

Just as it reached her, Arsenio sent a Stun at her, which she just managed to dodge. She attempted to call back her wand from him, but he was gripping it too tightly.

The henchman who was still clutching his broken nose swung a punch at Lena with his other hand, just grazing her right ear. She raised her hands to push him back like she'd done with the other, but was distracted by Arsenio sending another Stun at her. She dropped to the ground, and while she was down there, kicked out with one of her legs. The heel of her boot struck the thug in the ankle, and he stumbled back.

Once again, Lena tried to Summon her wand from Arsenio's left hand, but to no avail. So instead, as she narrowly avoided another spell sent her way by the Vettori son, she stretched out a hand towards the unconscious henchman who was slumped against the wall, and a moment later his wand flew into her hand.

She deflected another one of Arsenio's Stuns and put the other henchman in a Full Body-Bind. As he crashed to the ground, she pointed the stolen wand at Arsenio, who had his own trained on her.

"Give me back my wand," said Lena calmly, rising to her feet, "and your mother won't have a second one-armed son."

Arsenio only snarled in response, and sent a flurry of curses at her. Lena easily deflected each one, then flicked her wand as if she was casting a fishing line. A thin, golden rope streamed out of the wand. It wrapped itself around Arsenio's neck, and Lena tugged it.

Arsenio's eyes bulged, and he made a choking noise. He dropped both his wand and Lena's, and tried to pull the rope away from his neck. But his struggling only made it tighten.

As Arsenio, gasping for air, fell to his knees, Lena Summoned the two wands with her spare hand. Gripping her own, she dropped Arsenio's. Then she flicked the henchman's wand, and the gold rope disappeared. Arsenio let out a rasping gasp and coughed, his hands massaging his throat.

Lena threw the thug's wand down on the ground next to Arsenio's, then pointed her own at them.

" _Exactus Confringo."_

A jet of orange shot out and split itself in two. Each stream hit one of the wands, breaking them into halves.

Arsenio glared at her, enraged. "How dare you–" he began to croak, but Lena cut him off, pointing her wand at him. Although there was no rope this time, Arsenio's face started to turn purple as the air in his lungs was expelled.

"I suppose," said Lena nonchalantly, watching the man claw at his throat, "it would be somewhat unoriginal of me to cut off your arm." She cocked her head thoughtfully. "Perhaps a leg instead. Or an eye. Or possibly your tongue."

But before she could make up her mind, Lena heard the sound of footsteps approaching the alleyway. She quickly broke the Choking Spell and turned around to face the alleyway's entrance, preparing herself to cast a Memory Charm in case an unsuspecting Muggle stumbled into the curious scene.

To her surprise, it was not a Muggle who turned the corner, but a familiar face – Theodora.

The Greek woman raised her eyebrows at the sight that greeted her – two large, hulking, unmoving men on the ground, and another, spluttering, hunched-over man, and Lena standing over all of them. Theodora, however, did not look shocked or confused; just mildly intrigued.

"An eventful night out, I see," she said, walking towards Lena.

Although Lena didn't raise her wand at the woman, she still gripped it firmly. "What are you doing here?" she asked, suspicious.

Theodora shrugged. "I heard there was a possibility you might be in Rome tonight."

"So you're still stalking me," said Lena irritably. "Great."

"Not _stalking_ you," argued Theodora, sounding affronted. "Just keeping you under observation. As I told you last time, you're quite important to us."

Lena clenched her fists. "And I told you," she replied through gritted teeth, "that I don't want anything to do with your cult."

Theodora opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a groan from Arsenio, who was struggling to get to his feet.

"Right," said Lena, pointing her wand at him, which made him freeze. "You're going to take your idiots–" she quickly undid the Body Bind on the paralysed henchman, and murmured " _Rennervate"_ at the unconscious one, waking him up– "and fuck right off," she finished.

As the goons unsteadily stood up, looking between their boss, Lena and Theodora with confusion, Arsenio's lips curled into a snarl. "This isn't the last you'll see of us, Lestrange," he hissed. "My family will have its vengeance."

Lena sighed, shaking her head. "Merlin, you're stupid. I am literally giving you an out now. Take it, or the consequences of another meeting will be entirely on you."

Arsenio muttered an insult in Italian under his breath, but gestured for his men to follow him, and the three of them stalked out of the alleyway. Lena's eyes didn't leave their backs until they turned the corner and were out of sight.

"We're not a cult."

Lena looked at Theodora, who was watching her as one might gaze at a large gift-wrapped present with the knowledge that it is for them, but uncertain of what it held.

She arched an eyebrow. "A millennia-old society that is dedicated solely to the legacy of one, powerful person – one worshipped as a goddess, no less? The Orkístike is the very definition of a cult, Theodora."

"Well," said the other woman after a moment's reflection, "when you put it like that – yes, we are a cult. But," she added hastily when Lena snorted, "we're not like other cults. We're not a fringe group of lunatics. Our devotion is not based on faith, but knowledge."

"And what knowledge would that be?" asked Lena, folding her arms.

"That Hecate's Orb holds the power to change the world for the better. It just needs someone strong enough to wield it. And we now _know_ that person is you."

"Funny, because it sounds to me like you're confusing 'knowledge' with 'delusion'," remarked Lena.

Theodora let out an aggravated groan. "You are the delusional one," she snapped, "if you truly believe that the Orb is gone from your life forever." She took a deep breath, seemingly trying to calm herself. "Look, why don't you just come with me and meet the rest of the Orkístike? Then maybe you'll start to understand–"

"I'm not interested," said Lena firmly. "I have a life I want to live. And I suggest you stay out of it."

Theodora sighed. "You can't run away from your own destiny, Lena."

Lena paused. Then she adjusted her bag. "You're right," she said simply. But as Theodora began to smile, she added, "Because you can't run away from something that doesn't exist."

And with that, she Disapparated.

* * *

 _Wednesday 21 December, 1994:_

Remus contentedly watched Lena swallow a mouthful of her pumpkin soup. The smile that had graced his face the moment she had returned that evening was yet to fade.

Lena's eyes flicked to his face, and she tilted her head. "What?" she asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He reached over the kitchen table and rested his hand on hers. "I'm just happy you're home again," he said. "I've missed you terribly."

Lena smiled softly and picked his hand up, gently kissing him across the knuckle. "I missed you too." Letting go of his hand, she had another spoonful of soup. "Especially your cooking. Bloody hell, this soup is delicious."

"I'm glad you like it," replied Remus, chuckling. He leant back in his chair as he watched her finish the rest of the bowl. And as he did, he couldn't help noticing that she seemed preoccupied with something. Troubled.

"So," he began, as she waved a hand and the empty bowl was transported to the sink, "everything went well with the job?" He tried to keep his tone light.

Lena gave him an odd look. "I already told you it did."

"You didn't encounter any problems at all?" persisted Remus.

She raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Any members or employees of the Vettori family."

"There may have been some actions I had to take to avoid them," said Lena uninterestedly, drawing out her wand and waving it at dirty bowls, spoons and other items of crockery that had been used, which began to clean themselves. "But I wouldn't say there were any problems."

"Well, that's good to hear," said Remus. But he was still concerned. He was about to ask if there was something bothering her when Lena came over to him and plonked herself down in his lap. He winced slightly. Of course he enjoyed the extraordinarily close proximity to her, but Lena's bottom wasn't exactly the most comfortable rear-end to have on one's lap. It was a remarkably bony posterior.

He was temporarily distracted from his discomfort as Lena pressed her lips to his. Eagerly, he returned the kiss. After a few seconds, Lena pulled back. Her hands, which had been resting on his shoulders, slid around his neck, and with a small sigh, she nestled her head against the crook of his neck.

"It's really quite ridiculous how much I adore you," she said.

Remus smiled fondly at her, and kissed her on the tip of her nose. "Funny you should say that," he said, "because I was just thinking that the amount of love I have for you is, frankly, absurd."

"You think so?"

"I know so," replied Remus matter-of-factly. "What other reason would there be for allowing your bizarrely sharp buttocks to dig into my thighs for so long?"

Lena straightened, and looked at him indignantly. "Are you saying you don't like my arse?"

"I adore your arse," insisted Remus. "I have an immense aesthetic appreciation for it. But I also like being able to feel my own legs, and at the moment, they're going rather numb, and that is a consequence of your delightful arse being sat upon them."

Lena sniffed haughtily, and stood up. "Fine. Then my arse and I are going upstairs to have a shower, and you are _not_ invited to join us."

"What?" yelped Remus, also standing up. "But it's your first night back–"

"And you were hoping for a shag in there, no doubt," interrupted Lena, her manner imperious. "However, your rejection of the privilege to have your lap sat on by me has given me no choice but to withdraw any offer of shower-sex tonight." She leant forward and gave him the quickest of pecks on the lips. "I'll see you in bed."

She spun around and strode out of the kitchen, leaving a properly put-out Remus in her wake.

Nevertheless, in spite of having one less chance to physically demonstrate his joy that Lena was home again, he was relieved to see that her previous troubled preoccupation appeared to have vanished.

* * *

 _Sunday 25 December, 1994:_

On Christmas morning, Remus woke up to a sight that genuinely stunned him.

Lena. Still lying in their bed. For the first ever time.

She was awake, lying on her side, facing him. Upon seeing him both awake and shocked, she grinned.

"Morning, darling. Merry Christmas."

Remus blinked. "You're still in bed," he said. He glanced at the clock on her bedside table. "At nine-past-seven in the morning."

"Consider it your first present of the day."

He continued to stare at her for a few seconds. Then he rolled on top of Lena, and began enthusiastically snogging her. Very conscious of the fact they were still naked from the previous night, his lips gradually drifted down to her neck. And then her chest, her stomach, and even further down...

"Wait, Remus," said Lena suddenly, trying to sit up, "I'm tingling!"

"That's nothing compared to what you'll be feeling in a minute," muttered Remus from down between her thighs.

But Lena, using her foot to push him off, impatiently told him, "No, you idiot, my arm. Something's triggered the Estate's intruder alert. Someone's at that gate." She quickly got off the bed, searching for some underwear.

Remus sat up, confused. He and Lena were supposed to be joining Maggie and Oliver at Newt and Tina's for Christmas lunch (Rolf's parents wouldn't be there, as they were spending the holiday in Brazil with their son). There wasn't supposed to be anyone visiting them at the Estate today, so just who had set off the alarm?

"Maybe it's an owl trying to get in?" he suggested, also getting off the bed and going to the wardrobe to find clothes.

Lena shook her head. "I adjusted the wards a couple of days ago so that birds can enter, remember?" she said. "No, whoever's here is human."

They hurriedly finished dressing and raced downstairs. Going outside and approaching the gate, they were both shocked to see that their visitor was none other than Valeriya, who had sent them a letter a few days ago saying she wouldn't be back in England until Boxing Day.

"Valeriya," said Lena, opening the gate, "this is a pleasant surprise."

Remus smiled at the older woman, but personally thought it was a very ill-timed surprise. Her arrival had ruined what was looking to be a very promising Christmas present.

"Well," said Valeriya, kissing Lena on the cheek and nodding at Remus, "just wait until you hear the news I've come to deliver." She looked exhausted.

"News?" inquired Remus.

Valeriya nodded. "I left the continent as soon as I heard it – which was only a few hours ago."

No wonder she was so tired. That was an awful lot of long-range Apparition to do in a short time.

"What's happened?" asked Lena, frowning.

"It's the Vettoris," explained Valeriya. "Loredana and all three of her sons." She took a deep breath. "They're dead. Murdered."

Remus gaped. " _What_?"

Lena, meanwhile, had gone very still, staring at her great aunt with a peculiar expression.

"One of Arsenio's employees found them shortly after midnight," said Valeriya. "All lying in the drawing room, dead. I can't confirm the cause, but all the rumours are saying they were each struck by a Killing Curse."

Remus felt conflicted. It was honestly quite relieving to think that he and Lena no longer had to worry about a Dark and powerful family trying to kill them the moment they set foot on the continent. On the other hand, it rather went against his nature to celebrate the murder of a family on Christmas morning – even if it was a family of particularly unpleasant people.

He looked at Lena. She still hadn't moved at all, and he was finding it impossible to get a read on what she was thinking.

So he turned back to Valeriya, who was watching Lena intently. "Is there any word on who might have done it?" he asked.

Valeriya glanced at him. "No," she replied, "other than it wasn't a robbery. Apparently, not a single one of their artefacts is missing."

"Why don't we go inside?" said Lena abruptly. "I'm freezing out here." Without waiting for a response from either Remus or Valeriya, she began walking back to the house.

Both Remus and Valeriya stared after her. Then they exchanged a look with each other.

It was a look that said whatever they'd been expecting Lena's reaction to the news to be, that hadn't been it.

* * *

Once they were back inside, Lena was able to get a grip on herself. She managed to balance the correct amount of apathy and curiosity as they discussed the murder of the Vettori family further, and by the time Valeriya left, Lena was fairly confident that the concern she had felt from both her and Remus upon her initial reaction to the news had faded.

She kept up the pretence that everything was fine throughout the rest of Christmas day. Lunch at Newt's passed without a hitch. But at night, after Remus had fallen asleep, Lena went straight to her study and sat down at her desk. After a few seconds of blankly staring at the wall, she realised she was shaking.

There was no doubt in Lena's mind as to who had killed the Vettoris. Nor was there any in regards to why they had been murdered. Because their deaths had been a message – one meant for her.

It was the Orkístike's way of saying, ' _We want to be friends_ '.

Slowly, her hand still trembling, Lena opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out the case that held the ancient, untranslated documents concerning Hecate. She set it down in the centre of the desktop, and her finger hesitantly traced the clasp on its side.

 _'You can't run away from your own destiny, Lena.'_

Lena had never had much time for Divination. In her opinion, the majority of prophecies were self-fulfilling, and it was much the same with destiny and fate. When she decided to walk down a particular road, it was because all the surrounding evidence informed her that it was the correct path to take to get to her chosen destination. It wasn't because it was the only route, and it wasn't because there was some mysterious, unseen force guiding her down it. Hard work in tandem with the aligning of circumstances got you places, not a definitive predetermination.

But neither could she ignore that choices had consequences, repercussions that might only emerge years after a decision was made. And Lena had to accept that the choice she had made to take the Orb out of the case in which Valeriya had hidden it almost eight years ago had permanently affected her life. And a specially-designed potion by the International Healers' Organisation wasn't enough to counteract that.

She was bound to Hecate's legacy. It had become a part of her. And while Lena still had no desire to join Theodora and her gang of certifiable weirdos, these documents were quite possibly the best source of information on the woman to whom she was so unbreakably connected. They could be the key to unlocking knowledge of the person Lena would become if she ever found the Orb in her possession again. And to deny herself that understanding was unquestionably stupid.

To Lena, there were few things worse than being stupid.

So for the first time since Markellos had given it to her, she opened the case and removed the ancient papers, and started to spread them out across her desk.

It was time to put that Outstanding in NEWT level Ancient Runes to use.

* * *

Remus was anxious. And, as in most cases since the first of September, 1993, the cause of that anxiety was the woman he loved.

Lena had been acting strangely – even for her – ever since the morning after Christmas day. She spent nearly all her time locked up in her study, working on a project that she refused to tell him anything about. According to her, he wouldn't understand it.

As the weeks passed, it became a rarer and rarer occurrence for Lena to eat meals with him. She stopped coming to bed with him. And she declined all job offers sent to her.

She stayed with Moony during the next full moon. But frankly, it was more irritating than comforting for Remus to know that throughout one transformation, Lena probably spent more time with his furry alter-ego than she had with his human self for the entire past month.

The problem was that whenever he tried to voice his concern to Lena, she became snappish. Most of the time, when this happened, Remus backed off. Occasionally, however, he would retaliate in a similar manner, which escalated the prickly exchange to an argument that ended with Lena slamming the study door in his face and Remus storming out of the Estate and Apparating to the Hog's Head.

It was on an occasion such as this that found an angry Remus stalking towards the disreputable Hogsmeade pub slightly after half-past-eleven on a Saturday morning.

"Professor Lupin?"

Startled, Remus turned around. About thirty feet away from him stood Harry, Ron and Hermione, all watching him curiously.

He blinked a few times as they approached him, and asked in surprise, "What are you three doing here?"

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend," said Harry slowly, also looking confused. "I wrote to Lena earlier this week telling her–" He broke off as Remus' face darkened.

"Yes, well, communication isn't exactly Lena's strong point at present," he grumbled.

The trio exchanged a look, making Remus immediately feel embarrassed. It had been six months since he'd seen any of them, and the first thing he did when he saw them was complain about his relationship. It wasn't a good look.

"Sorry," he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "You've caught me at, erm, a poor time. How are the three of you?"

Harry coughed slightly. "Well enough, considering the whole being-entered-in-the-Triwizard-Tournament-against-my-will thing."

"And Hagrid being slandered by that awful Rita Skeeter," added Hermione.

"And the insane amount of homework we're being given," chimed in Ron. When Hermione shot him a dirty look, he hastily amended, "Which, obviously, isn't as bad as the other two things."

"How is Hagrid?" asked Remus, recalling the horrendous article Skeeter had written in the _Daily Prophet_ about the gamekeeper a couple of weeks ago.

"We don't really know," said Hermione, looking upset. "We haven't seen him since it was published."

"That's why we're here," explained Harry, "in this part of Hogsmeade. We know Hagrid sometimes comes here." He gestured towards the Hog's Head.

"I see," said Remus, frowning. If Hagrid hadn't been taking his Care of Magical Creature classes, then he must have been horribly affected by Skeeter's words.

"But how are you, sir?" said Hermione. "It's been so long since we've seen you."

A small pang of sadness hit Remus. "I'm not your teacher anymore, Hermione," he reminded her. "You don't need to call me 'sir'. 'Remus' will do. And I'm..." he paused. At the moment, he really didn't feel 'fine'. He sighed. ' _Better just change the topic,'_ he thought. "Why don't we head inside, and check if Hagrid's there?" he said instead.

Once again, the three of them shared a look, and Remus knew his avoidance of the subject of his well-being hadn't gone unnoticed. Nevertheless, they nodded and followed him inside the pub. It only took a couple of seconds to confirm that Hagrid wasn't there.

"It was worth a shot," said Harry glumly.

Ron, meanwhile, was looking around the bar with a keen interest, particularly at the various types of drinks on offer. "Well, now that we're here..."

Remus shook his head, smiling wryly. "Why don't the three of you grab a table, and I'll get us some butterbeers?"

The trio sat down while Remus went up to the bar, behind which Aberforth Dumbledore stood, watching Remus warily. Undoubtedly the pub's owner had recognised one of the students who had just walked through the door.

Remus cleared his throat. "Four butterbeers, please," he said. He'd been intending on drinking something quite a bit stronger, but he didn't think that would be good idea now that he had company.

Aberforth raised his eyebrows, but wordlessly fetched the drinks. Remus paid him, and brought the tankards over to the table in the corner where the three Fourth Years had sat, and were clearly very self-conscious of the looks the other half-a-dozen patrons of the pub were giving them.

"You're not the sort of clientele that usually frequents this place," he murmured to them, setting their drinks down in front of them.

Harry snorted. "You don't say."

"You're looking well," offered Hermione. "In good health, I mean."

"Full moons have been better since I stopped taking Wolfsbane," explained Remus. "Not to mention having Lena's company–" He stopped, his expression once again clouding over.

Harry bit his lip, looking uncomfortable. "Er, Pro– I mean, Remus," he corrected himself, "are things, um, all right? Between you and Lena?"

Needing time to think of an answer, Remus took a long swig of butterbeer, very aware of the three sets of inquiring eyes on him. Swallowing, he finally responded, "I would say that things could be better."

"Well," said Ron, shrugging, "she is a bit of a nutcase."

"Ron!" snapped Hermione.

"He's not wrong," muttered Remus before he could stop himself.

Harry and Hermione looked at him, shocked, and Remus blushed.

"I just mean that she's a very complicated person," he said quickly. He took another sip of his drink. "Extraordinarily complex." Then, unable to help himself, he let out a frustrated groan and buried his face in his hands. "Who am I kidding?" he mumbled. "She's _insane_."

A few moments later, someone hesitantly patted him on the arm, and Remus looked up. It was Hermione, giving him a half-embarrassed, half-pitying look. Harry, meanwhile, was frowning.

"Lena's not crazy," said the boy. "She's–"

"A self-absorbed, narcissistic, patronising, controlling, emotionally stunted _nightmare_ ," said Remus irritably. He thought about the maddening woman for a moment, then released a longing sigh. "Merlin, I love her."

The trio stared at him with varying levels of bafflement.

"But you just said–" Ron began to say, but Remus interrupted him with a dismissive wave of the hand.

"Trust me," he said, "it would just be a waste of time to try to understand it. I'd much rather hear about what Professor Moody is teaching you in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

At the mention of his favourite subject, Harry's eyes lit up. As he launched into an account of all the curses that Moody had been covering in class, a small ache started up in Remus' chest.

' _Bloody hell,'_ he thought, ' _I miss teaching_.'

* * *

 _Monday 13 February, 1995:_

"Lena," Remus called out, loudly knocking on the study door, "will you please open the door?"

There was no response.

Remus scowled. He knew she was inside the study, as he had heard her moving around in there an hour earlier. No, she was just ignoring him, and it rankled.

It had been three weeks since he'd ran into Harry, Ron and Hermione in Hogsmeade. When he'd returned home, he'd been too busy brooding over the fact he was no longer the Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to be cross with Lena, and his reinvigorated misery over the loss of his favourite job had kept his mind preoccupied for a few days. Then it had shifted into a desire to work on another job with Lena, obtaining some sort of difficult-to-procure magical artefact or substance. He knew she was still receiving offers. But when he had tried to approach the subject with her, Lena had resolutely told him that she still had much work to do on her 'project', and she didn't have time for 'gallivanting around Europe'. Another argument had ensued, and they still hadn't resolved it.

However, it was Maggie's nineteenth birthday in two days, and she had invited Remus and Lena over for dinner with her and Oliver. Lena still hadn't confirmed whether they were going – hence, Remus was standing outside her study door this morning, determined to get an answer out of her. Not because it was imperative that Maggie knew whether they were coming or not by the end of the day, but more so that Lena might finally have an actual conversation with him.

Remus banged on the door again. "Lena, open up. Maggie needs an answer about whether or not we'll come for dinner on Wednesday."

Yet again, no sign of acknowledgement came from within the study.

A small growl escaped Remus. He understood that Lena was somebody who needed her own space, but this was just ridiculous. Seven weeks of completely isolating herself and unresponsiveness was too much. He was going to have to put his foot down.

He hammered the door with his fist again, bellowing, "Lena! We need to talk! Now!"

Silence.

"LENA! OPEN THE _FUCKING_ DOOR, OR I SWEAR TO MERLIN I WILL BLOW THE BLOODY THING OFF ITS HINGES!"

When there was still no answer, he drew his wand and pointed it at the door, breathing heavily. "Right! THREE! TWO–"

There was a small clicking sound, and the door swung back a few inches.

Remus frowned. Lena didn't appear to be standing behind it. He slid his wand back into his jumper-sleeve, and pushed the door open the entire way. Stepping inside, his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him.

The walls of the study were covered in runes and words. Some of them were scrawled on large, pinned-up pieces of parchment, but many of the wood panels had been directly written upon. There were more scraps of parchment littered across the floor, some scrunched up in balls. A dozen or so old books were lying open throughout the room.

And there Lena was, sitting on the floor, her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. Half her hair was in a knot on top of her head, the other half limply hanging down, more tangled and matted than he had ever seen it. Her pale skin was somehow even more pallid than usual, and the shadows beneath her eyes were almost like bruises. She looked ill – the sickest he'd seen her since she'd been so close to dying one year ago.

"Hello, Remus," she said quietly.

He quickly crossed the room and knelt beside her. "What have you been doing?" he said urgently, touching her shoulder.

"It's on the desk."

"What?"

Lena's hand twitched in the direction of the desk. "The project. It's on the desk." She looked down at her knees. "You should read it."

Bewildered, Remus looked at the desk. "Lena, I don't under–" He stopped, as one of the words written on the wall caught his eye.

 _Hecate_.

A mixture of fear and worry rose inside of Remus. His eyes quickly scanned the rest of the walls. 'Hecate' appeared several more times, as did 'Nekrosía' and 'Time'.

"Markellos offered them to me six months ago."

Remus looked down at Lena, and swallowed. "Offered what?" he asked, his voice suddenly very dry.

"Documents," she replied emotionlessly. "From Hecate's time, written by her most dedicated follower. Untranslated. Until now."

He stared at her for a long moment, then stood up and walked over to the desk. Upon it were two piles of papers. The pile on the left was covered in runes, the one on the right in English.

Picking up the translated pile, Remus glanced at Lena. She was looking up at him with an expression he'd only ever seen on her face once before.

When she had told him that she had killed her grandmother.

As an ominous feeling settled over Remus, he began to read.

* * *

 _I, Astris, write this in a scripture that only I alone understand, as it has been created for this specific purpose: to record all my knowledge of my Lady so that long after I am dust, it will survive. But these words I write must not be for everyone – only one who can learn to read them is worthy of them._

 _When I was thirteen, my village was attacked by an army of men. They killed and raped, plundered and burned. My mother, like me, possessed the gift of magic and was supposed to be our village's protector. But her skill was not great enough, and she was overcome and murdered. My limited knowledge was only sufficient to protect myself, and in the end, I was the sole survivor. I swore vengeance._

 _But my rage did not blind me to the fact that I was not powerful enough to face the army all by myself. I needed to be taught how to wield my magic._

 _I had heard of several sorcerers throughout the nearby kingdoms, but in one town I passed through, I was told of a sorceress who was claimed to be more powerful than any of the others. Her name was Hecate, and they said she was no mere witch, but a Goddess._

 _I travelled for months to find her. She lived on a small island in a great tower with a dozen others –gifted with magic, all of them –who had dedicated their lives to serve her. After much begging, I was granted an audience with the great lady. At first, I was so awed by her beauty that my tongue hung limp in my mouth, but with her encouragement, I told her my story._

 _When I was finished, she ordered her followers out and spoke to me alone. She told me she admired my determination to avenge my people, and that I showed great strength. She said she would accept me as a pupil if I pledged my life to her. Eagerly, I agreed and swore upon my blood that I would be her faithful servant._

 _Over the next few years, while my skills proved under her tutelage, I began to discover the extent of my Lady's great power. With the flick of her fingers, she could move enormous boulders, hold back crashing waves, deflect almost any spell another sorcerer sent at her. She could travel great distances in the blink of an eye, and could bring a wilted flower back into bloom with the touch of her hand. But it was not until shortly before I was ready to seek out the army of men who had destroyed my village that I learned why she could accomplish these extraordinary feats that no one else could._

 _My Lady learned that one of the sorcerers in her service was selling secrets he had learnt from her to another renowned magician. This broke the oath of fealty he had sworn, and we all were called to the tower's hall to witness his punishment. The traitor had been immobilised by my Lady, and before our very eyes, she pushed her hand into his chest. Instantly, his veins blackened, as did the whites of his eyes and the inside of his screaming mouth. A strange glow began to form around my Lady. She pulled her hand out of the traitor's chest, and he fell to the ground, dead. My Lady, still glowing, made a fist with her hand, and the corpse turned to dust, which was blown outside by an unnatural wind._

 _In my next lesson with her, I was hesitant to ask her how she had done what she did. But my Lady sensed my curiosity, and told me it was time I learned. She explained to me that the source of her godly power was a form of magic called Nekrosía. It transformed the energy of a life into Dark magic, and every life that was taken increased the amount of magic inside of you. It was what had kept my Lady alive for over three centuries._

 _A month later, I was ready to seek out the murderers of my people. I departed my Lady's island with her blessing, on the provision that once I had successfully carried out my vengeance that I would return to her._

 _It took only a few weeks for me to find them, now that I knew how to transport myself across long distances with magic. I used spells my Lady had taught me to kill all the men. At first they tried to fight back, but soon they realised their efforts were futile, and attempted to flee instead. But I let none escape._

 _Afterwards, as I walked among the field strewn with fifty-eight corpses, a great peace filled me. My promise to avenge my mother and our village had been fulfilled. Now the path ahead of me was clear; I could fully dedicate my life to the woman who had given me the means for my vengeance._

 _I returned to the island, where my Lady was most eager to hear of my retribution. She told me she was proud of me, and promised that I had a place at her side for the rest of my life._

 _Years passed, and I became her greatest student and her most trusted confidant. She even started to teach me how to use Nekrosía, and was patient with me as I struggled to learn the most complex Dark Art._

 _It was two decades after I had first come to my Lady when there was a new arrival on the island. And it was Hecate's meeting with this magician that changed everything._

 _The man's name was Phorcys. He was a handsome man, and similar in age to me. And also like myself, he had come to my Lady seeking assistance in his vengeance. His wife and three children had been brutally murdered by a rival of his, and Phorcys wanted their killer to suffer unimaginable pain for this. And as she had done with me, my Lady agreed to help him in return for his loyalty. Phorcys agreed, and so became her new pupil._

 _He was more advanced in the magical arts than I had been upon my arrival, so it was only three months until he was ready to find his family's murderer and inflict on him an unbearable torture of his and my Lady's devising. But over those three months, it came to my attention that my Lady was beginning to develop an uncharacteristic affection for him._

 _When the time came to find the murderer, she went with Phorcys. And when they returned, it was clear to me that seeing whatever he had done to his rival had only intensified these feelings. Although I tried to approach the subject with her, she admitted nothing. But I was not blind._

 _I watched her, day by day, fall deeper in love with Phorcys. But it was a doomed desire, as he was still too heartbroken over his wife and children. My Lady thought if she gave him time, room would grow within him for another great love, but three years after his arrival, he still grieved._

 _At first, my Lady simply pined. But she was a woman unaccustomed to being denied what she wanted. So her first scheme to have his heart was devised._

 _One day, I could not find Phorcys anywhere. Worried that he had left the island without telling my Lady, I went to inform her of his absence. When I found her, she was already distressed. I asked if she knew where he had gone. She gave no response as she paced around her room, wringing her hands. Eventually, I asked if she wished me to try to track him down. Finally, my Lady properly acknowledged me and told me to follow her._

 _She took me down to her private vault. Inside, I was astonished to discover Phorcys, huddled on the floor. His eyes were empty, and he was muttering incoherently. Horrified, I asked my Lady what had happened to him. To my great shock, she began to weep as she confessed the truth._

 _She had attempted to remove all memory of his family from his mind. My lady had thought if he was no longer weighed down by his grief for them, he would surely reciprocate her love. She had not realised that taking away such integral memories would drive Phorcys mad. She had tried to reverse what she had done, but the damage she had made was irreparable._

 _My Lady's tears soon dried up, and as they did, I could see a new plan starting to take shape in her mind. Concerned, I begged her to tell me what she was thinking, but she simply dismissed me._

 _Over the following months, she was frequently away from the island. Stories of piles of corpse covered in black veins began to reach my ears, and I realised that whatever my Lady's plan was, it required more power than she presently had._

 _Nearly a year after her destruction of Phorcys' mind, I was woken some time after midnight by my Lady, who beckoned me to follow her. She led me out of the tower and through a system of caves that ran underneath the island that opened up into a great cavern. On the stone ground in the centre was drawn a circle surrounded by runes, most of which I did not recognise._

 _It was then that my Lady finally told me what she was doing. She had come to the conclusion that the only way to mend Phorcys' broken heart and mind was to ensure that it was never broken in the first place. And the only way to do that was to change the past so that Phorcys never met his wife._

 _At first, I was stunned into silence. Then I began to protest. She was almost undoubtedly the most powerful human alive, yes. But she was speaking of interfering with Time itself. But Hecate ignored my protests. She had drawn another, smaller circle that just touched the edge of the larger one, and told me to stand in it. If I did, my memory of the present as it was would remain unaffected by her manipulations. Perhaps she wished for this because her vanity would not permit her to undertake such a difficult and impressive task without a witness. Or maybe she had come to regard me as something akin to friend, and simply felt a peculiarly human need for someone to be with her. I do not know which. But against my better judgement, I did as she commanded._

 _My Lady took her place in the main circle, and she began to reverse Time. Then, when she had reached her desired point, she began to rewrite it. But shortly after she manipulated events to eradicate Phorcys and his wife's meeting, she started to scream. My Lady had not been aware that shortly after their meeting, his wife had saved him from drowning in a river._

 _Desperately, my Lady tried to rewrite history so someone else would be there to save Phorcys, but this led to another tragedy for which Phorcys would bear great guilt. And in trying to avoid that from happening, she created another kind of misery._

 _Again and again, my Lady tried to manipulate Time to fit her desires, but with every problem she fixed, a new one took its place. I begged my Lady to stop, but she did not listen to me, her once-brilliant mind clouded by her tormented heart._

 _Through tear-filled eyes, I watched the great Hecate destroy herself. Her body, immersed for too long in Time itself, disintegrated. Flesh, blood, bone – all turned to dust, and dust into nothing._

 _At last, all that was left of her was her heart, sitting in the centre of the Time circle. It was completely black, painted by the Nekrosía that had eventually become her own life-force. I reached out to touch it, and as I did, a hard shell grew around it, as if made from Obsidian._

 _My fingertips brushed it, and I quickly retracted my fingers. I had felt, for the briefest of seconds, the most immense pain I had ever known. Leaving it there in the cavern, I returned to the tower and told everyone that Hecate was no more, and the source of her extraordinary power lay in the cavern. Many of her followers rushed to see it. Six of them attempted to pick it up and wield it._

 _The heart killed them all._

 _It has been over half a century since that day, and the heart still has not left the circle. But I live in hope that there will one day be someone worthy enough of it, and will be able to use it to achieve the great things she would have if not for the destructive force of love._

 _Until that day comes, we, the Orkístike, will watch over Hecate's heart._

* * *

 **Well, any thoughts? I'd really love to hear them. I find reviews are an enormous help and create a greater sense of motivation when writing the next chapter. Questions, in particular, are great - less about what's in store for the future, but more when concerned with what I've already written, and especially _how_ I might have written something. It gets me thinking more deeply about the story, my narrative decisions, and my prose style. I always want to improve as a writer, and feedback is key to that growth.**

 **A few responses to reviews:**

 **Einklley: I'm glad you like the more psychological stuff. I sometimes feel like I spend too much time inside Lena's mind and on her internal conflicts, so if you ever find it boring, please let me know :) I'm super looking forward to Lena and Sirius getting to properly interact. I dare say a spit-take probably isn't out of the question for one of them or Remus :D**

 **Iris Quincy Rosewood: It's nice to hear that you enjoy the Moony/Lena relationship. It wasn't the direction I was going to take when I first started writing this story, but the more I thought about it, the more intrigued I became with the dynamic - a weird sort of love-triangle where two of the parties are the same person. As to the lies in their relationship and truth coming out... as a great man once said, "The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and therefore should be treated with great caution."**

 **hikazechimizu: Thank you very much for your kind words! To answer your Sherlock question: the only time I was consciously influenced by the character was when Lena is explaining to Remus how she deduced he was a werewolf. But you're right, there are definite similarities between Lena and Sherlock, more than I'd realised (I hadn't even considered the whole addiction thing, but that's certainly an interesting parallel).  
**

 **Anyhoo, thank you for reading! I'm hoping I'll finish the next chapter a lot more quickly than this one. So cheers until then :)**


	39. Together

**So... it's been awhile. Sorry about that.**

 **But seriously, thank you everyone for your incredible patience these last couple of months, I appreciate it so much. I will do my best not to have another big gap like this one, but of course I can't promise it - unforeseeable circumstances and all that. But again, I apologise for the long wait, and thank you enormously for continuing to read this story.**

 **I don't know if this chapter will be worth the wait, but I do hope you like it :)**

 **Onwards!**

* * *

Lena could hear her own heartbeat as she watched Remus read Astris' account. He was completely focused on it, but there was minimal change to his expression as he learned the history of Hecate's Orb. Lena didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

At last, Remus finished reading and looked at her.

"The Orb," he said slowly, "is Hecate's heart."

Lena nodded. "Which explains why I heard a heartbeat every time I used its power."

Remus ran a hand through his hair, simply staring at her. After awhile, he asked, "I thought you were done with all of this."

A small lump starting to form in her throat, Lena quietly said, "That's what I tried to tell myself. But last summer, when we were doing that first job for Markellos, I met one of them."

"One of who?"

"The Orkístike." She quickly told Remus of her first meeting with Theodora in the restaurant bathroom. When she finished, he was frowning.

"So why did you lie, and say she was just interested in the Medallion?"

Unable to meet his eyes, Lena stared down at her lap. "Because I was scared," she whispered.

She heard Remus release a sound of aggravation. "Lena, when you're scared of something, you can tell me! You're _supposed_ to tell me – it's part of being with some–" He came to an abrupt stop. He was silent for a moment, before softly saying, "You meant scared of what I'd think, didn't you?"

Lena didn't answer.

Remus came over and sat down in front of her, resting his hands of the sides of her legs. "You think I wouldn't love you because of something like that?" he asked gently.

"No," replied Lena, her eyes still fixed downwards. "I was scared that you would wish you didn't."

"Lena," Remus began to say, but she cut him off.

"It tears you up inside, Remus. Makes you feel like your heart is being ripped apart, every minute of every day. And if I was the cause of that–" Lena broke off, shuddering.

There was a pause, then Remus softly cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him. "You're afraid that one day I might think of you the way you think of Voldemort," he said quietly. "Or how I felt about Sirius for twelve years. I understand. But you wanting to know more about this power–" he lightly touched her chest with his other hand, "– inside of you isn't a terrible thing, Lena. I would never think badly of you for learning about the Dark magic you're bound to."

Sighing, Lena reached up and gently removed Remus' hand from her face. "It's more than that," she said. She bit her lip. "Remus, there is something inside of me that is _wrong_ , and it's not the Nekrosía. It's something that's been there much longer; it's the reason why I first took the Orb." She let go of his hand and buried her own in her lap, closing her eyes. "Sometimes, when things don't go the way I want, I just want to burn everything. Destroy it. Make people suffer. Because if I do that, then I'm not weak. I want other people to feel small." She opened her eyes, looking directly into Remus' eyes. "I _like_ other people feeling small. Feeling tiny, insignificant, stupid, useless. I like being better than them." She pointed to the documents on her desk. "That's why me researching this stuff is bad. Because it allows that sick and twisted thing inside of me to feel vindication. What Astris wrote – that after centuries, I, and I alone, am the person worthy of carrying on this legacy of death and defying the laws of nature – is dangerous for me to read. Because when I'm told that I'm the rightful successor to a woman who was worshipped as a goddess, there is a part of me that _believes_ it."

Once again, Remus just stared at her. Then, after a long moment, he said, "I think it's time to tell you that I haven't been entirely truthful with you either."

Lena blinked. "What?"

He took a deep breath. "You remember when Valeriya first came here last summer and we talked? I wasn't honest with you about what we discussed."

Leaning back against the wall and folding her arms, Lena said, "Go on."

"Valeriya told me she wasn't happy about our relationship. Not because of who I was or anything I'd done, but for the simple fact that you actually loved me."

"Why?" asked Lena, confused.

"She was terrified of what you might do if you ever lost me," answered Remus.

Lena gripped her arms slightly tighter. "You mean, if you died?"

Remus nodded. "She said if I was killed, revenge on those responsible for my death wouldn't be enough for you. She thought you would completely lose control of yourself and become a monster."

"A monster?" Lena raised an eyebrow. "What, like Voldemort?"

Remus hesitated. "Not exactly," he said carefully. "She was more referring to what you just spoke of – that _something_ inside of you. You see, Lena, Valeriya thinks the main reason Voldemort taught you Occlumency was to make that something only a _part_ of you, instead of an entirety."

Lena's stomach twisted. "Why would she think that?"

"Because when she first met you, she could see that you were angry and full of hate. You had a clear potential to become something terrible, someone who lived only for destruction and pain. But you kept that rage inside of you under control – the way Voldemort had trained you as an Occlumens was specifically designed for you to compartmentalise your thoughts and emotions, to stop you becoming overwhelmed by it all." Remus appeared to be trying to suppress a grimace as he finished, "He was trying to stop you from becoming a monster."

Closing her eyes, Lena let her head fall back against the wall as she tried to process what Remus had just told her. She had always assumed Voldemort had taught her Occlumency from such a young age because it was something she could learn without a wand. Now, she was being told he'd had an ulterior motive. But was it because he was worried that an out-of-control Lena could prove a threat to his power and plans, or had it been more altruistic than that? Had he truly wanted what was best for her? Had he genuinely cared for his young pupil?

The urge to hit something, break something, swelled inside Lena. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't this man, who had been a monster to everyone else, have had equally little compassion for her? He should never have interfered the night Bellatrix punished her for accidently interrupting one of the Death Eaters' meetings. He should have allowed Bellatrix's abuse to continue until she went too far, and either killed her daughter or turned her into an irreparable, destructive force. At least then she wouldn't have had to deal with an impossible internal war for the rest of her life.

But because he did save her all those years ago, Lena had become the woman she was now. The one that Remus loved. The friend that Maggie and Rolf adored. The older sibling Harry never had to turn to. And as she thought of them, the violent feeling inside Lena subsided.

She opened her eyes. "Why didn't Valeriya ever tell me any of this herself?" she questioned. Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Lena hadn't finished. "And why didn't _you_ tell me once you knew?"

Remus shifted uncomfortably. After a few seconds of silence, he replied, "In your aunt's case, I think she didn't want to give you reason to feel any more affection for Voldemort than you already did. And as for me?" He ran a hand through his hair. "The same reason you didn't tell me about the Orkístike: fear."

Lena's heart sunk. "Of me?"

"No!" exclaimed Remus, looking horrified. "No, never of you. I mean fear of myself – of what I might one day potentially do to you. That I could be the cause of you doing something unthinkable." He put his hands on her knees. "You said it yourself, remember? When you showed up at my shack all those months ago – if there was any impediment to us being together, you would destroy it. And what greater obstacle to love is there but death?"

To someone who didn't know Lena, it would have sounded ridiculous – trying to destroy death itself because it had stolen what she loved most. But for the two people sitting in the study, it was a possibility that could not be ignored.

"Hecate tried to bend Time to her will for the love of Phorcys," murmured Lena.

"And it destroyed her," said Remus quietly.

Neither of them said anything else for thirty seconds or so. Then Lena broke the silence.

"How can you stand being with me?" she whispered. "Doesn't it suffocate you? Don't you find it oppressive, the way I feel about you?"

To Lena's surprise, Remus laughed. "Sweetheart, I never thought anyone would love me _half_ as much as you do – let alone someone I adored too. As soon as I understood how werewolves are seen in our society, I thought I would lead a solitary life, especially after the deaths of my parents and everything that happened with James, Lily, Sirius and Peter. So understand this, Lena: there are times you will frustrate me. Infuriate me. Bring me to the brink of insanity. But you will never make me wish I didn't love you."

A warm feeling spread throughout Lena, and she launched herself forward and hugged Remus tightly. He returned the embrace with equal strength. They held each other for a full minute, then Remus released her.

"Now," he said, "what are we going to do with this whole Hecate business?"

Lena cocked her head. "Do?"

Remus nodded. "Yes. Are you planning on retrieving the Orb and taking over the world tomorrow, or do you need another week to formulate your religious edicts as humanity's new divine ruler?" He was struggling to hold back a grin.

Lena tried to glare at him, but the smile on her face made it difficult. "Shut up."

"No, seriously, you're going to need idols made in your likeness so people can have them in their houses to worship you at– Ow!" He rubbed his shoulder where she had smacked it. "Is that your idea of godly punishment?"

Lena shook her head. "You are such an arsehole," she told him.

"I must be," said Remus with a smirk. "Because you have said so, and your judgement, of course, is _infallible_."

"Oh, fuck off."

"Absolutely not," said Remus, scooting over so he was sitting beside her. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Two nights later, Lena and Remus were at Maggie's small, rented cottage in Pembrokeshire, having dinner with her and Oliver for Maggie's nineteenth birthday. As neither Maggie nor Oliver were particularly enthusiastic cooks, they had ordered take-away from a small Thai restaurant in the town – both a new and positive experience for their guests.

"Okay," said Lena, digging into her noodles, "I'm definitely investigating the Thai options in London next time I'm there." She glanced at Remus thoughtfully. "Alternatively, I could just buy you a recipe book for your birthday next month."

Remus, swallowing his mouthful of red curry, shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't say no to that."

"So you actually do enjoy cooking?" asked Maggie. "You don't just do it because Lena's lazy?"

"Rude," muttered Lena.

"I suppose you could call it a pleasure born out of necessity," said Remus. "Also, I spent a lot of time unemployed and living in a shack, so it's nice to have more control over what I eat than just picking which type of tinned soup I'll have."

"Fair enough," said Maggie.

Remus looked across the table to Oliver. "Any news on whether Silverton will be fit for the match on Friday?" he inquired.

Oliver snorted. "Considering he still only has a total sum of two and a half fingers across both hands, I'd say he's still a little way off."

Three weeks ago, Stuart Silverton, the Keeper for Puddlemere United, had been the recipient of a new pair of Keeper gloves from his fiancé – the issue being that when he put on the gloves, they had started eating his fingers. Revenge, the word was, for his infidelity with the secretary of the official Puddlemere United Fan Club. The Healers at St. Mungo's had been trying to grow back his fingers, but the process was slow-going.

However, what it did mean was that Oliver had finally played his first games of professional Quidditch, and had proved a great success. Remus had read in the sports section of the _Daily Prophet_ there were already rumours that if Puddlemere didn't promote him to the regular line-up for the next season, there were several other clubs willing to offer it.

"So how are you feeling about your chances against the Wasps?" asked Remus.

Oliver swallowed a mouthful of his chicken. "Pretty good. Their Chasers have been on pretty poor form this season. Their Seeker's the main concern."

"Speaking of Seekers," said Maggie, "how's Harry? The next task is next week, right?"

Lena awkwardly looked down at her plate, and Remus could tell she was feeling guilty that she hadn't responded to any of Harry's letters since December.

"I'm sure his friends are giving him all the help they can," he said. "And in Hermione Granger's case, I'd imagine that's quite a bit."

"I wonder who would have been Hogwarts Champion if they'd held the tournament last year," mused Oliver. He looked at Lena. "Well, probably you."

"What makes you think I would have entered?" asked Lena, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't exactly need the prize money."

"No, but it would have been great opportunity to point out how much smarter and more talented you were than everybody else," Maggie pointed out.

Lena shrugged. "I'm sure I would have enjoyed finding ways to complete the tasks," she admitted. "But I don't think such a public arena would suit me."

"That's understandable," said Oliver, nodding. "The way that Skeeter woman's been going after Harry is awful. "

"She'd be right at home with the Muggle tabloids," remarked Maggie. "Sensationalist, factually inaccurate..."

"I suppose a press industry with integrity is too much for any society to ask for," said Lena wryly.

The four of them continued to complain about the _Daily Prophet_ as they finished their main courses. Once the plates were empty, they cleared the table and Oliver brought over a large chocolate cake. Remus' eyes lit up at the sight of it – which did not go unnoticed by Lena, who covered her mouth as she snickered.

The candles on the cake were lit and they sang 'Happy Birthday'. Maggie blew them out, and the love in her eyes was unmistakable as she pecked Oliver on the lips.

Remus smiled to himself. It was all so _normal_ – friends gathering for dinner to celebrate a birthday, talking about work, eating cake. But of course, said friends were a professional Quidditch player, a werewolf, and the daughter of two convicted felons who had become the heir to an ancient and powerful Dark sorceress.

' _It might not be everyone's idea of normal_ ,' thought Remus. ' _But it's_ our _normal_."

* * *

 _Saturday 11 March, 1995:_

Lena nervously watched Healer Ghali as the older woman studied the contents of the three small cauldrons in front of her. A drop of Lena's blood had been added to each, and she was about to find out whether the Moramortis had done its job.

Finally, after a few minutes of waiting, Healer Ghali spoke. "Well, it's good news."

Lena let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Really?"

Healer Ghali nodded. "The Nekrosía remains present but inactive, and your own magic dominant. And the Moramortis doesn't appear to have affected your health in any other way – well, with the exception of what we discussed last year. I assume you haven't had a period since you started taking it?"

"No," replied Lena with a small smile, despite the familiar uncomfortable twinge in her stomach. "And I can't say I miss them."

Healer Ghali chuckled. "I can understand that," she told Lena. "Unlike most women I know, I'm counting down the days until I hit menopause."

Lena looked at her curiously. "I never asked – do you have any children?"

"No," answered Healer Ghali, "but I have nine nieces and nephews, so I get about as much interaction with children as I desire." She hesitated. "Forgive me for asking – it's really none of my business – but the man who was sitting with you in the waiting room–"

"Is my partner," said Lena, knowing where the Healer was going with this, "and is well aware of my infertility. We had that discussion right at the beginning, and we're both okay with it."

"Right," said Healer Ghali, nodding quickly. "Good. I just..." She cleared her throat. "I'm just glad to hear you're doing well with that side of things too. From a medical perspective, I mean – your emotional well-being, obviously, plays an important role in all of this."

"Of course," said Lena. "Don't worry, I didn't think you were crossing a line or anything."

"Great," said Healer Ghali, relieved. There was another pause, then she asked, "So you'd say, generally speaking, you're happy?"

Lena considered this for a moment, and the memory of the previous day sprung to mind.

 _"Come on," said Lena, tugging Remus up the steps of the Musée d'Orsay. "There's less than an hour until it closes!"_

 _Remus reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled towards the entrance. "You know," he said, "we could just go home early. In fact, I would have been just as happy to spend the day at home with you." He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "I wouldn't have minded if we hadn't even left the bedroom."_

 _Lena rolled her eyes. "We have sex practically every day – more, sometimes. That's why we're doing something more special than that for your birthday."_

 _"We have been to Paris before," he reminded her as they went inside the Musée. "Several times."_

 _"We were working then," argued Lena. "Today's been your first time to actually_ see _the city."_

 _"And it's been wonderful," said Remus patiently. "The Eiffel Tower, the Notre-Dame, the Arc de Triumph–"_

 _"Triomphe," Lena automatically corrected him._

 _"–but I don't exactly know much about Muggle art," continued Remus, ignoring her interjection, "so I'm not sure what I'm supposed to get out of this."_

 _Lena smirked. "So consider it a learning experience,_ Professor. _" She grabbed an information brochure. "Now, who shall we start your education with, the Realists or the Impressionists?"_

 _"Well, if we've got less than an hour, why don't you just show me your favourites?" suggested Remus._

 _Grinning, she took his hand again and set off. "Then to the Monet collection we go!"_

 _They spent at least half an hour dwelling over Claude Monet's paintings of gardens, water lilies, haystacks, and the Parisian cityscape. Well, dwelling in the sense that Lena eagerly offered her analysis of each artwork and the wider artistic style of Impressionism, while Remus nodded and said, "Yes, dear."_

 _Once they'd finished with the Monets, they wandered through the rest of the gallery._

 _"There's certainly a lot more naked women in Muggle art than in Wizarding," Remus commented quietly._

 _"I suspect the sentience of the artwork prompts most Wizarding artists to think twice," replied Lena drily. "Come on, we should get going, the Musée is going to close in–" She stopped when she realised he was no longer walking beside her. "Remus?"_

 _She looked around and found him standing a few metres away, staring at a painting by the artist Vincent van Gogh. She walked over and stood next to Remus, smiling when she saw his wonderstruck expression – the first time she'd seen it since they'd entered the Musée._

 _"You like this one?" she said softly._

 _Remus slowly nodded, not taking his eyes off the painting._

 _"It's called 'Starry Night Over the Rhone'," Lena told him. "By Vincent van Gogh, a Dutch painter who lived about a hundred years ago." She studied the piece for a moment. "Personally, I prefer 'The Starry Night', but I believe that one's kept in New York now. Of course, I've only seen prints of it, but I think it just captures something completely transcendent–"_

 _"Lena," said Remus, "please stop talking."_

 _She blinked. For about half a second, she took offence to his request. Then she understood. Sometimes, a picture was worth a thousand words. So instead of saying anything else, Lena simply put her arm around Remus and rested her head on his shoulder, taking in 'Starry Night Over the Rhone' with him. And in that moment, she knew if a hundred Dementors were to suddenly descend upon them, she could keep them all at bay._

"You know what?" said Lena. "I am." She glanced down at her arm, where Healer Ghali had drawn her blood for the tests. "So, regarding the Moramortis: I assume I still need daily injections?"

"At present, yes," said Healer Ghali. "We are currently working on a new version that would only have to be taken once every six months, but we're still quite some way off from perfecting that."

"Well, I'm just grateful there's a treatment at all," said Lena. "I'd have been dead almost a year ago without it, and considering this past year has been the best in my life, that really would have sucked." Her expression became uncharacteristically earnest. "Thank you."

Healer Ghali smiled warmly. "Lena, the research we did for creating the Moramortis actually led to a number of breakthroughs for treating and potentially curing several other blood-related maladies. I won't be so insensitive as to thank you for being sick, but please know that your condition has been the catalyst for helping many others fight theirs."

A small lump formed in Lena's throat. Finding out the stupid mistake she'd made when she was eleven had actually had some sort of positive consequence was surprisingly emotional. "That's... that's wonderful," she said hoarsely.

Healer Ghali finished the check-up and started to walk Lena back to the waiting room. On their way, however, the Healer was suddenly called away because of an emergency, so they bid each other a hasty goodbye, and Lena entered the waiting room alone. Her entrance was immediately noticed by Remus, who quickly stood up to greet her.

"How did it go?" he asked, concern written across his face.

Lena smiled at him. "It's all good," she replied, resting her hands on his biceps. "There hasn't been any deterioration or anything. I just need to keep taking the Moramortis."

At once, his worry was replaced with relief. "Great," he told her, putting his hands on her waist. "That's great news."

"Yeah." She tilted her head to the side. "How would you feel about an early lunch?"

Remus chuckled. "I would feel very pleased about that."

Lena picked up her bag which she had left on the seat next to Remus and put its strap over her shoulder. Then she linked her other arm with Remus'.

"Fantastic," she said. "Let's go see what's on offer in the realm of Swedish cuisine."

* * *

After Lena's trip to the IHO, she and Remus started working again. The jobs they were offered took them all across Europe, and in some cases even a little further. They, amongst other things, retrieved an ancient magical hammer from Norway, a cursed emerald pendant from Ireland, and a set of enchanted medieval robes from Turkey; they evicted a troublesome poltergeist from a cathedral in Portugal and captured a runaway Erumpent in Morocco; and they _persuaded_ two brothers who owned a chain of apothecaries in Croatia that the little old witch they'd been pestering was _not_ , under any circumstances, going to sell them her farm. Consequently, they spent little time at the Lestrange Estate over the next three months, as the Swiss house was usually more central to their work.

Another consequence of being on the continent more frequently was that it was easier for the Orkístike to find them. Remus had seen the mysterious Theodora at a distance several times, but was yet to actually meet her. Lena, the first time they'd noticed her watching them, had gone up to speak to her alone. Apparently, it had not been an exactly friendly exchange, as Lena had not been as appreciative of the Orkístike's 'gift' of murdering the Vettori family as Theodora had expected her to be. Subsequently, they had not spoken to each other since, which suited Remus fine. The more Lena stayed away from cults obsessed with the Dark Arts, the better.

One Saturday night at the end of June, Remus and Lena returned to the Swiss house after three days of working in Austria.

"You know," said Lena, unlocking the front door, "I think that might have been one of the most pleasant jobs we've had."

Remus stared at her incredulously as she pushed the door open. "I was almost eaten by a Chimaera, Lena."

"Well, yes," conceded Lena as he followed her into the house, "but wasn't Vienna just such a beautiful city? The architecture really is stunning."

Remus shook his head, but couldn't stop the corners of his lips turning up. It was such a _Lena_ -ish response to an immensely stressful and perilous last twenty-four hours.

They reached the living room, where Lena collapsed into the sofa, yawning.

"Merlin, I'm tired."

"That's what happens when you go for nearly fifty hours without sleep," said Remus disapprovingly, sitting down beside her. "I told you to wake me last night after I'd gotten a few hours so you could get some rest, but _no_ , apparently I'm not to be trusted to keep watch on a stakeout."

Lena, who was kicking off her boots, shrugged. "You might have missed something that I wouldn't."

Remus shook his head again. "Control freak," he murmured, then planted a kiss on her nose.

She smiled, tucking her legs underneath her on the sofa, and shuffling closer to Remus' side. He wrapped one arm around her shoulder, and Lena brought one of her arms across his waist, and rested her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for a little while in a comfortable silence. Then Lena glanced at her wristwatch.

"Harry must be about to start his final task," she commented.

Remus smiled. "I'm sure he'll do fine after all the extra coaching you gave him that last time we caught up with him at Hogsmeade."

"I hope so." She paused, before adding softly, "He's going to be a great wizard." She closed her eyes. "And a good man."

Remus silently watched Lena as she drifted off to sleep. She looked unusually peaceful.

Gently, as so not to disturb her too much, he hooked one arm around her back and the other beneath her legs and picked her up. Then he slowly made his way upstairs to their bedroom, careful to not let her long limbs knock into anything.

* * *

As a heavy rain drowned the Yorkshire moorland that was shrouded by the darkness before dawn break, a loud _crack_ cut through the roaring wind and a lone, cloaked figure suddenly appeared in the otherwise empty place. But the emptiness was an illusion; the man had been to the Lestrange Estate enough times to know exactly where it was situated.

 _Man._ Lord Voldemort smiled wryly. Could one who had returned from such obliteration be simply a man? Surely not. He had become more than that, more than human – although he didn't doubt that a certain long-bearded old fool would claim that he was less.

Igniting the tip of his wand, he held it out and approached where he remembered the Estate's gate to be. He waved the wand in a complex pattern, curious to see whether it would work and reveal what the owner had concealed.

The Estate remained invisible. Of course it did – this was no ordinary witch who had cast the protective enchantment over it. Voldemort knew that better than anyone.

Putting his wand in his pocket, he held his hands out in front of him, his long fingers twitching as if feeling for something. _Where was it?_

The air around his fingertips suddenly changed. Voldemort closed his eyes, a smile breaking across his face. _There_. Magic – a most distinctive signature. Oh, how well he remembered his first proper meeting with its wielder...

 _Friday 25 January, 1980:_

 _"My Lord, the Bones family holds such influence in the magical community," Evan Rosier was saying. "If the rumour Rookwood heard is true, and there has been a disagreement between two of the brothers, we should capitalise on this rift, and establish contact quickly. It would be invaluable to have him as an ally to our cause."_

 _"Don't be an idiot," Bellatrix cut in disdainfully. "Whatever argument there has been, it won't have anything to do with blood purity. The Bones family have been well established as Blood Traitors – one of them is almost certainly in Dumbledore's group of nuisances. The smartest move is just to remove them from the equation all together."_

 _A derisive snort escaped Severus, and Lucius rolled his eyes._

 _"You see, Bellatrix," said the Malfoy, with the air of a patient parent trying to explain something to a difficult child, "the problem with massacring entire families of magical blood is that it does somewhat taint the reasonability of our cause."_

 _Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at her brother-in-law. "Our_ cause _," she hissed, "is to reinstate the pure of blood to our rightful place, no matter what! If someone betrays their own kind by not joining that fight, they don't deserve to live among us when the war is won!"_

 _Before Lucius could respond, Voldemort raised his hand."Enough," he said quietly, and the eyes of all the Death Eaters sat around the long dining table of the Lestrange House turned to their leader. "I agree with Bellatrix that there is little point in trying to recruit a member of the Bones family." The woman sitting directly to his right smirked at Lucius. "Nevertheless," he continued, "I believe that killing the whole family – at least, at this point in time – would be equally unwise. For now, we should simply keep–"_

 _He was interrupted by a smashing noise. Immediately, nearly every Death Eater jumped to their feet and pulled out their wands, turning in the direction of where the noise had come – the kitchen._

 _Bellatrix had risen too, but she appeared less suspicious, and more murderous. Her fists were tightly clenched as she muttered, "Forgive me, my Lord. It seems the child is out of bed." She drew out her wand. "Please excuse me while I deal with her."_

 _Voldemort nodded, and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Bellatrix usually kept her so well out of sight that he sometimes forgot she and Rodolphus had a daughter._

 _As she stalked off, he directed the room's attention back to the matter of the Bones family. But only half a minute later there was another disruption as this time the sound of_ multiple _things smashing permeated the dining room._

 _Stony-faced, Rodolphus began to rise. However, Voldemort halted him with a gesture, and stood himself. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. What in the name of Salazar was that child doing in the kitchen?_

 _He left the dining room and walked down the short hallway that led to the kitchen, guided by the sound of an angry Bellatrix. Just before he entered, there came a loud yelp._

 _Looking inside, he saw there were several items of broken crockery strewn across the floor. Bellatrix was standing on one side of the kitchen, her wand outstretched and her lips curled in a furious snarl. On the other side was a little girl, clutching her left arm to her chest and glaring at her mother. Neither of them noticed his presence._

 _"How dare you embarrass me like that?" Bellatrix was saying angrily. "You know you have to stay in your bedroom when your father and I have a meeting!"_

 _"I was thirsty!" snapped the girl, letting go of her arm, revealing a painful-looking red mark upon it. "I just wanted a cup of water! I didn't_ mean _to knock over the bowl."_

 _Voldemort had to admit he was a little surprised. It appeared that Bellatrix had hit her daughter with a nasty Stinging Hex, which would usually be more than enough to make a young child cry. But instead of looking upset, the little Lestrange girl simply looked furious._

 _"Don't be so pathetic," said Bellatrix disgustedly. "You can survive one night without water."_

 _The moment her mother said the word 'pathetic', something shifted in the girl's expression. It was no longer just mad – she stared at her mother with unbridled_ hatred.

 _Her tiny fists curled, just as her mother's had upon hearing the noise in the kitchen. "Don't call me pathetic," she said quietly._

 _Bellatrix laughed. "Or what?"_

 _A sudden chill descended over the kitchen, and the hairs on the back of Voldemort's neck stood on end. An odd sense of déjà vu came over him, and he was unable to tear his gaze away from the little girl with a look of such pure detestation on her face._

 _And then every cupboard door and drawer flew open, and every utensil and piece of crockery zoomed out. Some crashed into each other in mid-air and shattered into pieces. Others ricocheted around. Bellatrix had to throw herself to the ground to narrowly avoid a knife of which her head was in the way. It embedded itself in the wall behind her. But every item, every broken shard, gave the child – who hadn't flinched in the slightest – a wide berth._

 _In the aftermath of this display of rage, Voldemort could hear exclamations coming from the dining room, where they had undoubtedly overheard the cacophony. But he ignored them, his attention entirely focused on the young Lestrange, in whom, for a moment, he had seen a reflection of his child-self. It was undeniably unnerving. But also_ exhilarating _._

 _"You little–"_

 _He was brought out of his trance by the sound of Bellatrix scrambling to her feet. She violently slashed her wand at her daughter, and a purple jet of light shot towards the child._

 _Voldemort didn't wait to see whether she could block it herself. He flicked his own wand, and just before the purple light reached her, it stopped, suspended in mid-air. Both mother and daughter's heads snapped to the doorway as he waved his wand again and made Bellatrix's curse disappear._

 _Bellatrix gasped. "My Lord!" She bowed her head. "I am so sorry for this further disruption to your meeting. I–"_

 _"Quiet," he commanded, his eyes still fixed on the girl, who was staring up at him with a mixture of fascination and wariness. He studied her face. Even at such a young age, there was an undeniable physical resemblance to her mother. But her striking, intelligent, blue-grey eyes made a marked difference._

 _Voldemort flicked his wand once more, and one of the still-intact golden goblets that was lying on the floor was Summoned to his hand._

 _"_ Augamenti _," he murmured, filling it with water. Then he beckoned for the child to come over to him._

 _She hesitated for a moment, then carefully made her way to him, avoiding the broken shards on the floor. When she reached him, he wordlessly held the goblet out to her._

 _Her expression was still mistrustful, but she gingerly accepted the goblet from him. "Thank you."_

 _He nodded slowly, before asking, "What is your name?"_

 _"Lena," she replied._

 _Lena Lestrange. It certainly was a name that rolled well off the tongue._

 _"I think, Lena," he said softly, "it is time for you to go back to your bedroom." An idea occurred to him. "Perhaps you would like some company on your way back up there?"_

 _She arched an eyebrow, looking slightly confused. "Your company?"_

 _"I should like to speak with you some more," he explained. "If that would be agreeable to you, of course."_

 _Lena glanced over at her mother, who was watching with a stunned expression. She looked back at Voldemort. "All right," she said simply._

 _He followed her out of the kitchen. Standing in the hallway were Rodolphus and Lucius, whose faces were just as shocked as Bellatrix's._

 _"You can go back in and tell everyone that our meeting is over for the night," he told them. Looking even more confused, Lucius began to speak, but was silenced by Voldemort calmly but firmly saying, "Go."_

 _He could see that Lena was watching the exchange with great interest. He suspected she wasn't used to seeing her parents and uncle ordered around. She was probably enjoying it._

 _He gestured for her to keep moving. "Lead on."_

 _Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment longer, then she turned around and kept walking. And they went upstairs to her bedroom together._

Together. That was how it was supposed to have been – Lord Voldemort and Lena Lestrange, together.

Then Lily Potter had sacrificed herself for her son, and all the plans he'd had regarding Lena and himself had gone up in smoke.

When his body had been destroyed that night, leaving him with a broken, incorporeal existence, his initial thought had been to return here and see her. But then he had imagined her expression when she realised that his great plan had been thwarted, and that he had failed. She would have been disappointed in him, perhaps even disgusted by the state he had been reduced to. So he had fled Britain, and it was another ten years before he had seen her again.

He hadn't known what to expect when he'd returned to Hogwarts four years ago. He had tried to find out what he could about Lena from Quirrell, when he had first happened upon the foolish wizard – but as he had been a Muggle Studies teacher at the time, the man knew little of the girl. All he'd been able to discern from Quirrell was the Lena had been Sorted into Slytherin, was an exceptional student, and had been accused – but not found guilty – of attacking another student with Dark magic within her first few weeks at the school. All in all, it had sounded promising.

He'd recognised her the moment she'd walked into the Great Hall that first night back. He saw her in Quirrell's mind, tall and thin with long, dark hair and cheekbones almost protruding out of her face. Cold and restrained. How desperately he'd wanted to use Legilimency, to reach out and just _touch_ her mind...

But he hadn't dared. It had been ten years – he no longer knew as he once did. Instead, he watched her through Quirrell eyes. For months. He kept his distance, afraid if he got too close that she would know. That was the most frightening thing – that she would discover his presence, and _she wouldn't be happy to see him_. Angered by his abandonment, disgusted by his parasitical nature. So he decided to wait until the Philosopher's Stone was his, and he was whole again... And then Harry Potter, the _loathsome_ boy, had delayed that reunion once again.

No longer. He had returned, fully. It was finally time to reach out to her, to embrace her as the daughter that should have been his. After nearly fourteen years, they would be together again, an unstoppable force.

Voldemort frowned. The magic imbued in the Protective Enchantment felt.. stale. It hadn't recently been checked. So she wasn't inside the estate tonight. In fact, she had been away from it for some time.

He tapped his fingers against the barrier, irritated. Where was she?

Suddenly, he felt something he hadn't noticed before. Carefully, he inspected Lena's enchantments again.

Blood Magic –her own unique take on it. She would know if someone tried to break through the barrier because it was linked to the blood running through her veins. Ingenious.

' _And an answer to the complication of her absence,_ ' thought Voldemort, smiling once again. If he could not speak to her face-to-face at this moment...

A message would have to suffice.

* * *

A sudden searing pain in Lena's left arm jolted her from sleep. Sitting up, she blearily looked around the bedroom, her eyes adjusting to the rays of the rising sun that were shining through a small crack in the window's curtains. She was alone in their bed, an oddity that did not escape her notice – Remus was very rarely up before her.

She refocused her attention on her left forearm, which was still stinging with a lingering pain. She blinked. There was red on it, like blood – but she wasn't bleeding. It was as an inscription made using her own blood, but it had not broken the surface of her skin..

Then her mind finally made sense of the red lines. They were letters: nine of them, forming two words.

 _Hello Lena._

Lena's heartbeat came to a still as every inch of her body and mind froze.

She didn't know for how long she had been immobilised when Remus burst into the room, ashen-faced and clutching a letter in his hand.

"Lena," he said hoarsely, still distractedly staring at the letter. "I've just received a letter from Dumbledore, and–" He let out a long, rattling breath. "Fuck, I don't know how to tell you this, but–"

As he looked up at Lena, he stopped, finally registering her motionless state.

"Lena?" he said, sitting down at the foot of the bed. "What–"

At last, Lena's heartbeat returned and she looked over at Remus. Her wide eyes met his concerned ones, and she spoke.

"He's back."

* * *

 **Fucking Voldemort. What a twat.**

 **Fun fact: It's been exactly two years since I began this story. I reckon 250000 or so words is pretty good for two years.**

 **Anyway, that brings us to the end of the _Goblet of Fire_ section of _To Be Human._ Hope you enjoyed it!  
**

 **Some responses to reviews of the previous chapter:**

 **Mika: Thank you very much for your kind words about the previous two chapters. Please don't feel the need to review every chapter, you've written so many wonderful and insightful ones, and I really do appreciate them!**

 **ICan'tThinkOfACleverUsername: I'm so glad you're interested in the Hecate stuff, considering the significant role it's playing in this story. Apologies for not updating sooner!**

 **Einklley: I'm very sorry if you're not a fan of the Hecate stuff, but I'm afraid it is going to continue to be part of this story. It was always my intention; that's why I first mentioned the Orb all the way back in Chapter 2. I completely understand that for many people the appeal of fanfiction is the further exploration of canon characters and plot elements, and that's totally fine. But _To Be Human_ is ultimately Lena's story, and my aim has always been to _interweave_ her story with Harry's, rather than shoehorn her in to it. Thus, I've introduced lots of original elements. However, I try my best to keep my expansions to the Wizarding World relatively authentic to Rowling's brilliant creation by mixing myths and original ideas. Again, it's absolutely okay if you don't want to read a fanfiction of something that makes such a departure from the source material. But thank you for the many lovely things you have written in your reviews :)**

 **So... thoughts? Favourite/least favourite bits? Critiques? Predictions or things you'd like to see? I'd love to hear them :) And if you have any questions, as always I will do my best to answer them at the end of the next chapter (unless you'd like a more immediate response, in which case, feel free to private message me).**

 **Anyhoo, cheers until next time (which I will try to ensure is a lot sooner than on this occasion!), when we begin the _Order of the Phoenix_ section. Perhaps I should start the next chapter with a recap of everything that's happened... ?**


	40. The Animagus and the Headmaster

**And we're back! Welcome to the beginning of the _Order of the Phoenix_ Section (although this chapter is technically set in the final days of _GoF_ ). And welcome to anyone who's only recently started reading _To Be Human_ , hope you stick around :) And thank you to the reviewers of the last chapter, I appreciate them greatly :)**

 **Without further ado, here is Chapter 40...**

* * *

 _Sunday 25 June, 1995:_

 _'London calling to the faraway towns,  
Now war is declared and battle come down.  
London calling to the underworld,  
Come out of the cupboard, you boys and girls...'_

"Now, that's what I call eerily well-timed," muttered Remus, as The Clash blared out of the car's speakers. They were just approaching the River Thames.

He glanced at Lena, but she didn't appear to have heard his comment, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. She hadn't said much since they'd left the Swiss house that morning. Just as Remus was about to look away, her right hand moved to scratch her left forearm.

"Lena," he said sharply, and she quickly retracted her hand without looking at him. He repressed a sigh, looking out the window as they entered the Blackwall Tunnel.

When he'd first seen the inscription on her arm that morning, he had thought for a moment that he would throw up. It had been horrifying. The idea that Voldemort had used her own blood to send a message to her – it was so... _possessive._

Remus clenched his fists, still trying to get his head around the fact that after nearly fourteen years, Lord Voldemort had returned, as strong as he had been before. His legs had almost buckled beneath him as he had read the letter Dumbledore had sent to him and Lena.

Once again, Voldemort had nearly killed Harry. And he had murdered Cedric Diggory.

Remus had liked Cedric. He'd been a dedicated student, and a kind boy – the embodiment of the ideal Hufflepuff. And now, for the simple matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, his life had been cut short. By the man that the woman sitting next to him once regarded more highly than any other.

' _And Peter,_ ' Remus reminded himself. Dumbledore had explained that the former Marauder had been pivotal in Voldemort's restoration.

He closed his eyes. How could he have been so stupid to have not taken his Wolfsbane that night one year ago? If he hadn't had put them all in such immediate danger, they could have turned Pettigrew over to the Aurors. Then Sirius would have been a free man, and Voldemort would most likely still be a cloud of smoke.

' _Well, it's too late to fix any of that now,'_ he told himself, opening his eyes. ' _All I can do now is fight against him._ '

And that was what Lena was going to do too. At least, that's what Remus had assumed when Lena hadn't taken off by herself that morning after learning her former teacher was back. He hadn't pushed her to tell him what she was thinking. One didn't have to love her as much as he did to know she was in immense pain.

After she had read Dumbledore's letter, she had quietly told Remus to pack his bags so they could depart for England as soon as possible. They had spent all day driving (apart from the ferry trip from Calais to Dover), listening to Lena's cassettes in a silence which was only disrupted on the occasions that Lena subconsciously scratched her arm. The message had almost entirely faded now, but that hadn't stopped it bothering her.

Twenty minutes later, they reached a place near Charing Cross Road where they could leave the car, and made their way to the Leaky Cauldron. There hadn't been any discussion about returning to the Lestrange Estate – clearly, it wouldn't be safe – so they instead were going to spend the night at Valeriya's flat in Knockturn Alley, as she was away in Tangiers.

As they entered the flat, Remus looked around interestedly. He had never been there before and was curious about the place Lena had spent the majority of her holidays while a student. It was quite a small, cramped space.

' _Only because you've spent most of the last year between two mansions,_ ' Remus internally berated himself. ' _You've become spoilt._ '

Mortimer, who had hidden inside Lena's jacket on their journey to the flat, scurried out and began to explore his former home.

"This one was my room," said Lena, pushing open a door. "You can sleep in here tonight."

Remus looked inside. There was a single-bed that would probably be slightly too short for him.

"What about you?" he asked Lena.

Lena raised her eyebrow by a fraction. "You really think I'm getting any sleep tonight?"

Remus cringed inwardly.

Without waiting for his reply, Lena continued, "I'll go out and grab some dinner. Anything you'd like in particular?"

"How about I come with you?" suggested Remus.

Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "Why, Remus?" she said, her tone slightly colder. "What do you think is going to happen if I go out alone?"

His stomach clenched. The last thing he wanted Lena to think was that he didn't trust her.

So Remus took a cautious step towards her, and held a hand out to her. Lena hesitated, but warily took it with her own, and allowed him to gently pull her closer. Slowly, and maintaining eye contact with her, he edged his lips closer to hers. After further hesitation, Lena copied him. Neither closed their eyes until their lips finally met.

It wasn't a passionate kiss, or particularly romantic at all. It was about reassurance. Reaffirmation that Remus trusted her to do the right thing. When Remus was sure she understood, he broke the kiss and, his eyes still shut, rested his forehead against hers for a moment. At last, he drew back and looked at her.

"Thai would be wonderful," he told her, "if you're happy with that."

Lena nodded. "Thai it is," she agreed quietly. Before she left, she kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering slightly longer than usual.

* * *

When Remus woke up in Lena's old bed the next morning, the room was completely dark as there was no window and Lena had closed the door at some point during the night. Blindly, Remus' hand scrabbled around the bedside table, searching for his wristwatch and wand. Eventually finding them both, he muttered, " _Lumos_ ," and checked the time. It was almost nine a.m..

He quickly sat up, keeping the end of his wand lit. He had slept much later than he'd intended. He hurriedly put on a T-shirt and opened the bedroom door and extinguished his light, having no need of it in the illuminated flat.

Music was coming from the kitchenette. It was quiet, but Remus recognised the sound of Paul McCartney singing 'Eleanor Rigby'. Moving to the entrance of the kitchenette, he found Lena sitting at the small table. Her eyes were closed as she listened to her Beatles mix-tape on the cassette player, and she had drawn one of her feet up onto the chair.

Remus studied her face. Its expression was much calmer than it had been the previous day. In fact, her whole body appeared less tense. He hoped it meant that she had achieve some sort of clarity of mind.

"Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door."

Remus started; he hadn't realised Lena was aware of his presence.

"Sorry?" he said, confused.

Lena finally opened her eyes. "It's a lyric in the song," she explained with a small smile. "Whenever I hear it, it just sort of sticks in my head for awhile. I don't know why." She paused. "Actually, I do." She looked away from Remus, staring at the wall as she half-mouthed along to McCartney's closing lines of the song.

Remus sat down across from her. As the opening guitar strums of 'Yesterday' began, he said, "You let me sleep in."

She turned her gaze back to him. "I didn't think you'd gotten much the previous night. And you didn't sleep in the car yesterday, so I figured you could use some extra hours." She pointed to the kitchen counter. "I also brought some bread last night, in case you wanted toast for breakfast. And tea bags too." She gestured towards the mug sitting in front of her. "I've already had three cups this morning, but I could go for a fourth. You want one?"

"Thank you."

Lena picked up her wand and waved it, muttering a couple of incantations. At once, breakfast began to prepare itself. Five minutes later, a plate of toast and a cup of tea was sitting in front of both Remus and Lena. They were halfway through breakfast when there came a tapping at the flat's sole window.

"I'll get it," said Lena quickly, and went out of the kitchenette. She came back a minute later, holding an envelope. "From Dumbledore," she told Remus. "Presumably a response to the reply we sent him yesterday morning." Sitting down, she opened it and unfolded the letter inside. "Shall I read it out?"

Remus nodded, and she began.

" _Lena and Remus,_

 _Thank you for the promptness of your return to Britain. I have not had a chance to visit the Lestrange Estate yet, but will do so at the earliest opportunity and inspect the defences. I agree that it would be unwise for you to return there any time soon._

 _The re-establishment of the Order is progressing. However, I fear we will not receive the same co-operation from the Aurors as we did last time, with Alastor no longer head of the department, and Fudge refusing to accept the reality of the new situation. And I suspect, if Voldemort confines himself to the shadows for the meantime, the news of his return will be met with resistance from the wider public – particularly when it comes to the reporting of the_ Daily Prophet.

 _In any case, the first meeting of the new Order will not occur until the end of this school year; I shall inform you of the details a little closer to the date. But there is much to be done before then._

 _Today, at 2 o'clock in Gibson Square Gardens, Islington, a friend of yours shall be waiting for you._

 _Regards,_

 _Albus Dumbledore"_

Lena looked up from the letter. "A friend?"

"Sirius, I expect," said Remus. "Although Merlin knows what he's doing back in London, so close to the Ministry. How far is it from here to Islington?"

"A fifteen or twenty minute drive, I think," answered Lena. She glanced down at the letter again. "Fudge, you moron," she murmured.

"Not really surprising, though, is it?" Remus pointed out. "Fudge only became the Minister because everyone thought we'd entered a new era of peace, and that we didn't need someone who could lead a war effort." He paused, looking at Lena intently.

It didn't take long for Lena to notice his gaze. "What?" she asked.

He slowly breathed in and out, before saying, "You are intending on joining the Order, then?"

She stared at him for a long moment. Then, pushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear, she calmly said, "I hate blood supremacy, Remus. It's wrong, and it's _evil_. And I will not let my personal feelings towards Lord Voldemort stand in the way of fighting against it."

* * *

At two o'clock, Lena and Remus parked in the street beside Gibson Square Gardens. As Lena got out of the car, she adjusted her sunglasses and grimaced. It was uncommonly hot.

She glanced at Remus as he shut the passenger seat door. The sleeves of his white linen button-up shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and he was wearing sunglasses too, behind which his eyes were nervously scanning the Gardens. But Lena could tell that beneath his worry, there was excitement too – he was, after all, about to see his best friend again.

After locking the car, they wandered into the gardens. There didn't appear to be anyone else about. At last, Lena spotted a large black dog lying in the shade of a tree. She nudged Remus and indicated to it. The dog, at the same time, noticed their presence and quickly sat up. Eagerly, he bounded over to them. Reaching Remus, the dog reared back on his hind legs and placed his front paws on his friend's chest, his tongue lolling out as he grinned.

Remus laughed softly, and scratched the dog's head. "Missed you too, Padfoot," he told his friend.

The dog dropped back on all-fours, and inclined its head at Lena, who nodded back. Then Padfoot turned around and trotted off, closely followed by Remus and Lena to give the appearance that he was theirs.

Padfoot led them out of the Gardens and across the street. They went around the corner, and at the next left turn, they went up the street, past a row of backyards. They turned the corner again into another street called Grimmauld Place. The grimy fronts of the houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, paint was peeling from many of the doors and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps. In the middle of the side of the street opposite to the one they were walking along, there was a square patch of unkempt grass.

They reached Number 11, and Lena noticed that the next one along was 13. Padfoot suddenly changed course and made a beeline for the part where the two houses connected. Suddenly, he disappeared. As Remus took in a sharp breath, Lena removed her sunglasses and squinted at the spot where he'd vanished. There was something wrong with it...

She grabbed Remus' arm. "Come on," she muttered, and they walked over to where they'd last seen Padfoot.

A moment later, a whole other house stood before them: Number 12. And leaning against its shabby, black front door was Sirius Black.

"Welcome," he said, waving a hand theatrically, "to the _actual_ Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, now property of the Disowned and Most Disgraced Sirius Orion Black."

"Huh." Lena looked at the house interestedly. It had a silver doorknocker in the shape of a twisted serpent. "So this is what it looks like from the outside. I only ever came here via the Floo Network, so I didn't know."

"Well, it's certainly not as grand as the Lestrange Estate," said Sirius. "Which reminds me," he extended a hand, "I don't think we've actually been properly introduced."

"No," replied Lena, moving up onto the doorstep. "I don't believe we have." She took the proffered hand and shook it. "Lena Lestrange, your first cousin once-removed, and Remus' other half."

"Sirius Black. Our family's greatest disappointment, and Remus' better-looking friend."

Lena grinned. "You don't say. I was just thinking you're surprisingly gorgeous for an on-the-run escapee of Azkaban."

"I'm _literally_ right here," said Remus loudly.

"I'm sorry, dear," she apologised, patting him on the cheek. "You're very pretty too."

"I was genuinely just thinking how fit you looked," added Sirius, eyeing his friend up-and-down. "You're not half as scrawny as you used to be." He squinted at Remus' upper-lip. "Not sure about the moustache, though."

"Look, I'm not entirely sold on it either," Lena admitted to him. "But he seems to like it, so I've told myself there's no harm in letting him keep it."

"Except an ill-considered and misaimed kiss."

"Well, of course."

"Again," said Remus, exasperated, " _right here_."

"Shall we go inside?" Lena asked Sirius.

"Good idea," he replied, opening the door. "Just be warned, the whole place is in a terrible state. Also–"

He didn't need to finish the sentence. The moment they crossed the threshold, an awful screaming started up.

" _Traitor! Stain on the family name, shame of the House of Black–"_

Sirius slammed the door shut behind them. "SHUT UP, YOU OLD HAG!" he bellowed, but it did nothing to stop the wailing.

In the darkness, Lena could just make out the shapes of lamps along the wall. She waved her wand to ignite them, and at last they could see the entrance hall – and most importantly, what was making the dreadful noise.

Lena's eyes widened shock when she saw Walburga Black's painted face hanging on the wall at the end of the hallway. It was quite an enormous portrait, bigger than the many other age-blackened portraits hanging along the hallway. And significantly more vocal too.

" _–brought dishonour upon all our family–"_

"I believe you're both acquainted with my mother," said Sirius grimly, barely audible over the racket she was causing.

The last time Lena had seen her Great Aunt Walburga, she had been five years old. She had loathed the vile woman, and as Bellatrix had been Walburga's favourite niece, the feeling had been mutual.

She vaguely remembered Valeriya notifying her of Mrs Black's death about ten years ago. She couldn't recall what her reaction had been to the news; most likely, she had said "Good" and then not spent another seconding dwelling on the matter.

"Is there any way to shut her up?" shouted Remus over the portrait's screeching.

Sirius spread his hands helplessly. "I've tried Silencing Charms, taking it off the wall, setting it on fire–"

Lena took a deep breath, then yelled, "Aunt Walburga!"

At last, Sirius' mother ceased her noise. The portrait's eyes narrowed as Lena slowly walked down the hallway towards it. Recognising her, it hissed, " _You! Ungrateful child–"_

"Ungrateful?" repeated Lena, stopping in front of the portrait and glaring back at its subject. "Of what, undeserved punishments?"

 _"Your poor mother, burdened with a nasty, troublesome wretch like you–"_

"My mother," said Lena calmly, "was an evil, sadistic _bitch_ who was even worse than you."

One second of complete silence filled the hallway. Then:

" _WICKED CHILD, HOW DARE YOU COME HERE–"_

"Come on," said Sirius, taking Lena by the elbow and gesturing for Remus to follow. "Let's go upstairs, I want to check on Buckbeak."

Leaving behind the still-shrieking portrait, he took them to a winding staircase. The smells of damp, dust and rot grew more pungent the further they went into the house.

"Where on Earth are you keeping a Hippogriff in here?" asked Remus.

"My mother's bedroom. Best occupant that room's ever had."

They passed an umbrella stand that appeared to made of a troll's leg and began their ascent of the stairs.

Remus audibly shuddered as he looked at the walls. "Are those–"

"The heads of the Black family's past house-elves mounted on the walls, yeah," said Sirius. "Unfortunately, the most recent one is yet to join them."

Lena shook her head in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me – Kreacher is still alive?"

Sirius glanced back at her with a humourless smile. "Yep," he confirmed. "Talk about an unwelcome surprise."

"Where is he now?" asked Lena, frowning.

"Hopefully, still in the kitchen," replied Sirius. "I ordered him to stay there until I said otherwise."

"So you're his master now?"

"Apparently, he's part of the wider–" Sirius gestured around him, "–inheritance."

When they reached the third floor, Sirius led them down the corridor to the room at the very end. As he opened the door, there was a loud rustling of feathers and a squawk.

Buckbeak the Hippogriff excitedly greeted his on-the-run partner, before eyeing Lena and Remus suspiciously. Hurriedly, they both bowed. Buckbeak continued to warily watch them for several seconds, then bowed too.

"So, how long are you intending on staying here?" Remus asked Sirius, as he moved closer to pat the Hippogriff's beak.

"For the foreseeable future," answered Sirius, although he didn't sound pleased about it. "But it might not be just _my_ hideout," he added. " Because this place has got so many protective enchantments around, the idea is that we might use it for headquarters."

"Of the new Order?" said Remus, surprised.

Sirius nodded. "That's the main reason I came here – to check if it could be useable. And apart from it being in an absolutely filthy state, I reckon all it needs is a Fidelius Charm, and it'll be perfect." He still sounded quite unenthusiastic.

"And you're okay with staying here?" said Remus hesitantly. "Despite–"

"Despite the fucking awful childhood I spent here?" interrupted Sirius with a wry smile. He shrugged. "I suppose I'll just have to suck it up." He scratched Buckbeak's head. "Won't we, buddy?" he murmured.

The Hippogriff responded with a quiet squawk.

"That reminds me," said Sirius. "I need to get him some more food – I think he's already hunted down most of the rats that have been living here."

"We could pick up some stuff for him in Knockturn Alley," suggested Lena. "And also any supplies you need."

"I'd appreciate that. So, when are you two heading back to the Lestrange Estate? That's where you've been living, right?"

"We had been," replied Lena. "But it's been... compromised. Last night we stayed at my aunt's flat in Knockturn Alley, but that's not going to really work out as a permanent arrangement."

Sirius stared at them, an idea clearly forming in his head. "Then, I suppose you're looking for a place to stay..."

Lena and Remus looked at each other. After a couple of seconds, they both smiled and turned back to Sirius.

"What would you think of having two more housemates?" said Remus.

For the first time, Sirius genuinely grinned. "I think that would be bloody great."

* * *

Before Lena and Remus left to return to Valeriya's flat and collect Mortimer and the rest of their things, Sirius introduced (or rather, in Lena's case, re-introduced) them to Kreacher the house-elf. He had visibly aged in the fourteen years since Lena had last seen him, his skin even more wrinkled and a large quantity of white hair growing out of his bat-like ears. Time, however, had not caused him to forget 'Bad, Wicked Miss Lena'. But Kreacher was only allowed a few seconds to spew verbal abuse at her before Sirius ordered his silence.

"Not a fan of yours, I take it?" Remus had said drily as they walked upstairs to the entrance hallway.

"No, he adored 'Lovely Miss Bella' far too much for that," Lena had replied.

As well as picking up food and sanitary supplies, Lena also dropped into the draper's shop in Knockturn Alley. She had an idea of how to combat Walburga's portrait.

"Enchanted curtains," she explained to Remus and Sirius when they were back at 12 Grimmauld Place. She pulled the black velvet material out of the wrapping paper. "They should be able to dampen the noise – both ways."

It was a struggle, but after half-an-hour, Lena and Sirius had finally installed the curtains over the screeching portrait, ignoring Kreacher's horrified protestations as they'd worked. Remus, meanwhile, did his best to make one of the bedrooms inhabitable for Lena and himself. Mortimer explored the house thoroughly, and was enormously excited by the amount of Doxy eggs he found.

At 8 o'clock in the evening, Lena went out again to buy them dinner. She returned half-an-hour later with three pizzas, which they ate in the kitchen that Remus and Sirius had just finished cleaning.

"Fuck me, that's delicious," said Sirius through a mouthful of food.

"It _is_ good," agreed Lena, "but wait until you try some of Remus' pasta dishes. His fettuccini and carbonara is _fantastic._ "

"Oh, I'm very looking forward to experiencing Remus' newfound culinary abilities," said Sirius. He smirked at Remus. "Do you wear one of those floppy hats when you cook?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "No, I don't."

"I'll buy you one, then."

"You will do no such thing."

Lena smiled as the two old friends continued their back-and-forth. It was nice to see the less-restrained version of Remus she usually only saw when they were alone actually interacting with someone else.

Just as she was thinking this, she was drawn back into the conversation by Sirius.

"So, dear cousin," he began. "Apart from our very brief encounter a year ago, the last time I saw you, you were still a foetus in your awful mother's stomach. How's life been treating you since then?"

Lena waited until she had finished chewing and had swallowed the food in her mouth before responding.

"Well, my parents hated me from the day I was born for a reason I'm yet to discover; I had no friends, and pretty much the only people I knew were Death Eaters. Then Voldemort took a shine to me, and became my teacher. And then eventually he became the only person I loved, because, you know, I'd been pretty fucked up by everything else. Then he got himself blown up, my parents got themselves arrested, and I moved abroad with my grandmother. I met my great aunt, who was basically a criminal but not a blood-purist psychopath, so she was able to teach me a bit about ethics and basic human decency. However, I still had an unhealthy obsession with power, so when I was eleven I messed with an incredibly Dark object called Hecate's Orb, which consequently led me to murdering my grandmother during an argument. Then I moved back to England with my aunt, started attending Hogwarts, attacked and permanently incapacitated a girl who was a fan of my parents; met Harry in my Fifth Year, became friends with him in my Sixth and helped him defeat the teenage version of Voldemort – who had just expressed his desire to shag me, which was disturbing on _so_ many levels. The following year, I became Head Girl, nearly died because of the Orb's magic that was still inside my body, was miraculously saved by the International Healers' Organisation, and fell in love with my Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Left Hogwarts, started a job that involves a significant amount of illegality, and found out I was being stalked by a three-thousand-year-old cult who want me to take back the Orb and become their new goddess. Then yesterday morning I received a personal message from Voldemort which basically meant, 'Hey, still interested in taking over the world with me, like we planned when you were five?'. And so I came back here to join the organisation that's going to fight him and met you." She paused reflectively. "I might have missed a few things, but that's the general gist of it."

Remus, who had just been about to take a bite of pizza before she'd started, was gazing at her with a shocked face, still holding his slice in his hand two inches away from his open mouth. Evidently, he hadn't been expecting Lena to be quite so open and honest.

Meanwhile, Sirius, who had leant back in his chair as Lena spoke and listened to her with an indiscernible expression, stared at her for about five seconds once she had finished, before saying, "I see." There was another beat of silence. Then he inquired, "Have you ever considered taking up drinking?"

Lena threw back her head and, for the first time since she'd woken up the previous morning, truly laughed.

* * *

Over the next two days, Lena, Remus and Sirius continued to do their best to make the house more inhabitable. It was a task that would usually be made significantly easier with the assistance of a house-elf, but Kreacher proved to be more of a hindrance than a help. He couldn't directly disobey an order from Sirius, but the old elf exploited any loophole he could.

Lena also undertook the task of making Sirius look a little more... presentable. She cut his long tangled hair, ordered him to neaten his scraggly beard, and bought him some new clothes. It was clear that the toll of twelve years in Azkaban meant he would never be quite as handsome as he once was, but he was certainly once again becoming quite easy on the eyes.

The domesticity, however, was finally disturbed on Wednesday night while they were eating dinner, by the sudden appearance of a Patronus in the shape of a Phoenix. To Lena's shock, the Phoenix opened its beak, and spoke with Dumbledore's voice.

"I will come after midnight. Wait for the surrounding lights to go out."

And with that, the Patronus vanished.

Lena blinked a few times, before asking the others, "Erm, what was that?"

Remus raised his eyebrows. "A Patronus," he said slowly, not understanding her confusion.

"Since when can a Patronus talk?"

"Since Dumbledore figured out a way to use them as a form of communication among the Order during the last war," answered Sirius.

Lena looked at Remus accusingly. "You missed that out during our Patronus lessons."

"Well, you need to produce a corporeal one," said Remus, shrugging. "And you couldn't do that until after I'd left. But I'd be happy to teach you how to do it now."

Sirius, meanwhile, was thoughtfully scratching his chin. "When Dumbledore said 'after midnight', do you think that meant literally just after twelve, or that we can expect him any time after then?"

"I'm not sure," said Lena, "but if what you're really wondering is whether you need to stay up all night or not, I'm happy to keep watch if you want a nap." She smiled sweetly at both of them. "I know senior citizens like yourselves get cranky if they don't get enough rest."

Remus and Sirius shared an affronted look.

"Remus, did your girlfriend just call us 'old'?" Sirius asked his friend.

"Why yes, Sirius, I believe she did."

'How very rude of her."

"Exceedingly."

They both turned back to Lena.

"We," began Remus, "are thirty-five. Men in our prime."

Lena snorted. "If you consider this your 'prime', that's really nothing to boast about."

While Remus looked at her with a wounded expression, Sirius coughed pointedly. "The sounds coming from your room these last few nights would indicate otherwise." He smirked. "I mean, I'm two floors above, and I can hear the two of you _loud and clear_."

Remus' cheeks instantly turned pink, but Lena simply arched an eyebrow. "Jealous?"

Sirius grinned. "Of course. But of whom more, I'm not sure."

"Can I just reiterate the fact that the two of you are _related_?" interjected Remus loudly.

Lena waved a dismissive hand. "We're already inbred enough, it wouldn't do much more harm."

"And I haven't had sex in over fourteen years," added Sirius, "so at this point, I'm not really fussy." He glanced at Lena. "Not that I wouldn't consider you shaggable if that wasn't the case."

"Why thank you."

"This is making me uncomfortable in so many ways," grumbled Remus.

"Would a good, hard snog make you feel better?" asked Lena dryly.

Remus considered this of a moment. "Infinitely."

* * *

At half-past-one in the morning, Lena watched from the grimy drawing room window as all the lights around Grimmauld Place went out, and Albus Dumbledore appeared in the street below.

She quickly woke up Remus and Sirius – who had fallen asleep in the kitchen – and the latter went to the front door to open it for the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Lena felt a strange rush of affection as, for the first time in a year, she came face-to-face with the great wizard. She had spent so much time with Dumbledore in her final year at Hogwarts, and she hadn't realised how much she missed the mutual understanding they shared.

She, Remus and Sirius quickly showed him around the house, and after an inspection of its magical defences, the head of the Order of the Phoenix approved it as their new headquarters. After a short discussion with all three of them, he asked to speak to Lena alone, and the two of them went down to the kitchen together. Lena shooed Kreacher out of his den and shut the door behind him. Then she joined Dumbledore at the kitchen table, pulling up a chair beside him.

A silence filled the kitchen for a brief moment, as Dumbledore looked at her intently. Then:

"How are you?"

Lena bit her lip. "I–"

A violent shudder ran through her body, and Dumbledore's gnarled hand shot out to take hers. Wordlessly, he held it tightly as Lena raggedly breathed in and out several times, her eyes screwed shut.

After a while, the overwhelming emotion that had so suddenly risen inside of her subsided, and she opened her eyes again, breathing out slowly.

It would not have been apparent to someone who didn't understand Dumbledore as she did, but there was concern and sympathy in his bright blue eyes as he watched her.

"I feel," Lena restarted, letting go of Dumbledore's hand, "like I've spent the last four days with ninety-nine percent of everything inside of me stuffed into a locked trunk." Her breath hitched. "But I don't know how much longer I can keep it in there before the lid bursts open."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. He remained silent a few seconds longer, then said, "You chose to come here, instead of returning to him." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"I chose what is right."

"Then," said Dumbledore, after another short pause, "I think you can open that trunk."

"I don't want to," replied Lena immediately, balling up her fists. "I don't... I _can't_."

"You will always feel the pain, Lena," said Dumbledore softly. "You will always feel it because you will always _love_ him. And Time will not heal the wound." He leant in closer to her. "But your _conviction_ is stronger than your affection. You did the right thing when he sent you that message, and I believe that you will continue to do the right thing, no matter what."

He gazed into her eyes with an intensity that almost made Lena forget to breathe.

"I _trust_ you, Lena."

So Lena allowed all the fear, hurt, anger, longing, frustration and misery that she had been keeping locked up in a small, deep-down space inside of her to emerge.

The temperature in the kitchen dropped, and the lights began to flicker. The pots, tins, bowls and plates on the benches slowly began to rise in the air, as did all the unoccupied chairs around the table.

Then a single tear escaped the corner of Lena's left eye and rolled down her cheek, and all the objects in the air gently floated back down, and the warmth returned as the lights stopped flickering.

Lena wiped the tear off her jaw, and quietly asked Dumbledore, "How's Harry?"

He tilted his head to the side. "You haven't written to him?"

She smiled sadly. "I've thought about it," she admitted. "But what on Earth would I say?" Swallowing hard, she added, "I don't know if he'd even want to hear from me."

Dumbledore stared at her for a moment, tapping his fingers against the table. Finally, he spoke. "I don't know if you are aware," he began, "but a month ago, Harry was left alone in my office, waiting to speak to me. Naturally inquisitive boy that he is, he noticed the cabinet door to my Pensieve was open, and decided to investigate. He found himself taking a dive through my memories of several of the Death Eater trials at the conclusion of the last war – including that of your parents."

Lena's eyes widened. "No," she said, her throat suddenly quite dry, "no, I wasn't aware of that."

"I think he found the experience quite unnerving," said Dumbledore. "After all, it can be quite different to see something with your own eyes instead of simply hearing about it. Nevertheless, he told me he couldn't imagine what it must have been like for you as a child."

The corner of Lena's lips turned slightly upwards. "He's an uncommonly kind boy," she murmured.

"Remarkably selfless," agreed Dumbledore. He looked around the kitchen, seemingly interested in the spacious area.

Lena narrowed her eyes. _Feigned_ interest. He was avoiding telling her something else.

She folded her arms. "So why did he initially want to talk to you? From what I understand, you weren't offering the same assistance with the Tournament that Karkaroff and Maxime were giving their Champions."

Dumbledore turned his gaze back to her and sighed. "So little slips past you, does it not? Very well, Harry had come to my office because he wished to tell me of his most recent dream."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "A dream?"

"Yes, but really more of a vision. One of Voldemort."

She gripped the edge of the table tightly, and stared at Dumbledore. "What?"

Straightening in his seat, Dumbledore folded his hands in lap. "A consequence of the fragment of Voldemort's soul that resides inside Harry. For a few moments, Harry was able to see where Voldemort was, and what he was doing." He pursed his lips, before continuing, "It was the second occasion in the past year that he has done so."

"When was the first?" asked Lena, her voice very quiet.

"Last August."

It was like a punch to the gut. Lena had seen Harry almost half-a-dozen times since then, and exchanged even more letters. How could he have kept something like that from her?

' _Because he doesn't trust you,_ ' said a small, internal voice. ' _He thought if you knew that Voldemort's strength was returning, you'd go running right back into his arms._ '

That angered Lena. True, she hadn't known for sure what she'd do until the opportunity had presented itself, but she'd thought Harry had more faith in her.

"Perhaps it is best you don't contact him for the present."

Lena's attention snapped back to Dumbledore. "Why?" she demanded, her voice harsher than she'd intended.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the answer had already formed in Lena's mind.

"You're worried that the visions will work both ways," she said. "That even if Voldemort doesn't realise Harry is a Horcrux, he'll figure out they have a connection and find a way to exploit it."

"And I would rather that neither of us were in a position with Harry which would prove a tempting opportunity for him," explained Dumbledore. "Certainly not until we know how aware Voldemort is of the connection."

Lena nodded. "I see."

"And regarding Harry's being a Horcrux," continued Dumbledore, "there is something else you should know. During the ritual to regain a proper body, Voldemort used Harry's blood."

Lena frowned. "Used? As in he now has some of it running through his veins?"

"Correct."

Her mind began to whir. "But Lily Potter's sacrifice – that put a protective enchantment in Harry's blood, one meant to keep Voldemort from harming him. If that's now inside him too–"

"Voldemort can now touch Harry without fear of pain, yes," said Dumbledore. "But–"

"But it also creates another bond between them," muttered Lena, more to herself than him. "Voldemort carries the sacrificial protection inside him, which means as long as he is alive..." She stopped, looking at Dumbledore questioningly. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Dumbledore smoothed back his long white hair. "Truthfully, I don't know. As far as I am aware, there is no precedent for any of this. But if we are speaking of possibilities rather than certainties, then yes, I believe it is."

Lena, on the contrary, found it very nearly unbelievable. There was a chance that even if Harry sacrificed his life to destroy the piece of soul inside of him, he might not die. In a way, Voldemort's resurrection may have saved his greatest enemy's life.

It was almost laughable.

But the talk of Lily Potter had made Lena remember something else.

"So, what's going to happen with Snape?" she asked Dumbledore. "You made the fact he was spying for you during the last war public."

Dumbledore appeared slightly surprised by their conversation's change in direction, but nonetheless answered, "Voldemort believed in the final months of the war that Severus was only pretending to spy for the Order, and feeding us only the information he wanted us to know." He looked down at his hands for a moment, then back at Lena. "I sent Severus to Voldemort within a few hours of the Dark Mark summoning all who are branded with it. Severus told him that he had remained at Hogwarts for the last fourteen years, gathering information on me, in order to divulge it in the event of his return."

Lena crossed her arms. "And Voldemort bought that?" she said sceptically.

"To the best of my knowledge."

She fidgeted with the edge of her shirtsleeves for a little while. Dumbledore, sensing she was trying to make up her mind on whether to say something or not, patiently waited.

"Snape was in love with Harry's mother," said Lena finally, "wasn't he? That's why he became a spy for the Order."

Dumbledore stared at her with an unreadable expression for half-a-dozen seconds. Then, taking off his half-moon spectacles, he let out a low, mirthless laugh.

"Your deductive reasoning skills really are exceptional, Lena," he remarked, wiping the glasses on his robe-sleeve. He put them back on and peered at her through them. "How long have you known?"

"I figured it out sometime last November, I think," replied Lena quietly. "Remus mentioned that he and Lily were friends before they came to Hogwarts, but there was a falling out in their Fifth Year." She twisted a lock of hair around her finger. "When I was at Hogwarts, I always wondered what reason you could possibly have for trusting him." She smiled bitterly. "Of course it was _love_."

"It is an immensely powerful force," said Dumbledore.

Lena half-snorted, recalling Astris' recount of Hecate and her plan to rewrite Time. "And extremely dangerous."

"Yet you seem to have wholeheartedly embraced it," said Dumbledore mildly.

Lena gave the old wizard a withering look. "Yes," she pointed out, "but then I've never exactly been one to stay away from immensely powerful and extremely dangerous things, have I?"

The black mark directly above her heart would always be a reminder of that.

* * *

 **Fun fact: This story is now officially longer than the actual _Order of the Phoenix_ book. Merlin's beard.**

 **So, thoughts on the chapter? How is Sirius sounding, because I'm finding his voice trickier than I expected. Anyhoo, I'd love to know what you liked/disliked, or if there are any questions.**

 **Responses to reviews:**

 **Mika: I'm sorry to hear you weren't feeling well, and I hope you're better now. Yes, I love Van Gogh too, and I think his paintings would really resonate with both Lena and Remus. I was originally going to write a longer scene where Lena told Remus more about Van Gogh and his life, but I felt it would be too much of a tangent. That's great to hear you're enjoying the Hecate stuff; considering she's the goddess of magic in Greek mythology, I thought a version of her deserved a place in Rowling's Wizarding World. Regarding David Thewlis: I guess the version of Remus I see in my head when I'm writing the story is the one I see when I'm reading the books; someone who looks a bit like Thewlis, but is younger and doesn't sound like him. I used his image in the cover art because I wanted an established Lupin, rather than some fancasting that wasn't exactly right. In the end, I'm leaving it up to the reader to decide how they want Remus to look (other than the basics: tall, skinny, brown hair, scarred) and sound. But it's kind of cool that what I wrote for him last chapter invoked a version of Thewlis for you :) Glad you're excited for what's to come, and hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

 **Littlecosma001: I'm happy to hear you thought the last chapter was worth the long wait. I'm afraid it might take a while to get to the Lena/Voldemort confrontation, but I hope when we do, you'll think that one is worth the wait too :)**

 **AGCrays: I'm very glad that you stumbled across it :) It's great to hear you enjoy the dialogue, because that's generally the stuff with which I'm happiest. Particular snark. I love some good, snarky content :D**

 **bridget237: Good to hear you thought the earlier chapters held up :) And I hope the Lena and Sirius meeting/interaction in this chapter wasn't a disappointment :)**

 **Einklley: I'm sorry if I misunderstood your previous review. I do try to put the odd mention of established magical creatures and such in their adventures, but I guess I sometimes get so caught up in trying to expand the Wizarding World we know that I don't do it enough. Hopefully, now that Lena's story is back to more significantly intersecting with Harry's, you'll find there's an improvement :) And I really do appreciate all the lovely things you've said in your many reviews!**

 **Guest: Thank you muchly. Very happy to hear you think my writing has improved over the last two years, rather than regressed :D**

 **Well, thank you everyone for reading, it's so wonderful to know there are people still interested in this story :) Cheers, until next time!**


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